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THE 

LOBSTER WAR 


OTHER BOYS* BOOKS BY THAMES WILLIAMSON 

Opening Davy Jones’s Locker 
The Flood Fighters 
On the Reindeer Trail 
Against the Jungle 
North after Seals 


♦ 



He overtook the man and grappled with him. 







































THE 

LOBSTER 

WAR 



THAMES WILLIAMSON ' 

\\ 

With illustrations by 
FORREST IV. ORR / 


> 


> ) 



Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company 
Boston and New York 1935 















* 



Copyright, 1935, by 

v' / 

THAMES WILLIAMSON 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


wnv 




■j 


©ClA 89246 } 

ft 


For 

Warren Munsey 


Maine fisherman extraordinary . He knows more 
about lobsters than they know about themselves . 


"I understand there’s folks in the world that 
wouldn't know a lobster if they met it in the road, 
but around the coast of Maine here the lobster is a 
pretty common animal, and mighty important, to 
boot.” 


■Lobster John 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

PAGE 

i 

How It All Began 

3 

ii 

The Plot 

17 

hi 

Brothers in Ambush 

31 

IV 

A Race through the Fog 

48 

V 

Fifteen "Shorts” 

64 

VI 

Guilty or Not Guilty? 

84 

VII 

Never Say Die 

102 

VIII 

The Nancy Takes a Hand 

117 

IX 

Broken Arm 

133 

X 

Low-water Slack 

151 

XI 

Tit for Tat 

167 

XII 

Say It with Prices 

187 

XIII 

Lobsters Must Eat 

201 

XIV 

The Stolen Island 

219 

XV 

Riddle 

235 

XVI 

You Never Can Tell 

248 

XVII 

Bart Goes Away 

266 

XVIII 

News from Augusta 

281 

XIX 

Sharp Curve Ahead 

297 

XX 

An Ordeal and a Surprise 

318 

XXI 

The War is Over 

331 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Frontispiece 


He overtook the man and grappled with him. 

The next four traps were in order, though only 
one of them contained a lobster. 33 

The warden succeeded in dipping up a total of 
fifteen shorts. 81 

"Avast there, you!” 93 

"Buyin’ lobsters, air ye?” 143 

"Lease my lobster pound! H’m, that’s diff’rent, 
that’s diff’rent. What ye figger to do with 
it?” 175 

"Everybody’s happy now, I cal’late.” 205 

"Hold him!” cried Kittredge. 261 

The coroner leaned over the side, studying the 
position of the body. 303 

The commissioner was about to make an an¬ 
nouncement 325 












THE 

LOBSTER WAR 
























\ 

















Chapter One 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


H enry Sennett trudged slowly down the woods 
path, making a low squashy noise with his 
rubber boots, but otherwise silent. Behind him strode 
his sons, Elmer and Tom, chatting and laughing 
from sheer good spirits. For it was June, early morn¬ 
ing, and fine clear weather; what more could they 
ask! The smell of salt water came stronger, a gull 
creaked; then they rounded a thicket and found 
themselves at the shore of the cove. 

"The tide’s going,” observed Tom lightly. "What 
shall we do, Elmer, order it back or let it go?” 

Elmer did not respond to this sally. As the elder 
of the two brothers, he was the more inclined to be 
quiet and serious, and now there was something be¬ 
sides joking to concern him. Their father had led 
the way up to a little flat-bottomed skiff that lay just 
above high-water mark; he had untied it and was 
beginning to drag it down over the gravelly beach 


4 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


toward the edge of the water, when Elmer cried 
out: 

"Now, Father, you stop that! Tom and I are going 
to do the work.” 

The hint of a smile came to the thin brown face 
of Henry Sennett; nevertheless he dropped the end 
of the skiff, and let the boys seize it and drag it 
swiftly to the water. 

"We’re going to do the work,” announced Tom, 
stepping into the boat and picking up the rude home¬ 
made oars, "and I guess it’s about time, too. I’ve 
been hankering after this all spring, and now that 
school’s over I’m going after it. You can’t have all 
the fun, Dad.” 

They pushed off, Elmer and his father sitting 
down while Tom rowed. The father was a grave, 
tight-lipped man, with a slight stoop to his shoulders 
and a steady eye that ranged back and forth in 
an arc beyond Tom’s head. He gazed at the calm 
water and at the occasional small islands that 
dotted its surface. Farther off lay the rugged 
shore, and above this rim of yellow-gray rocks rose 
a wall of low wooded hills, relieved now and then 
by a square of meadow land, or a wharf, and 
a white cottage or two. Again the father seemed to 
smile. 

"Well, boys,” he remarked, "Eve been a-trappin* 
lobsters in and around this here cove for about 
forty years now, but I’ve never seen much fun to 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


5 


it. Of course you maybe will. I’m not a-sayin 5 you 
won’t. 55 

"Shift a little to your right, 55 Elmer said to his 
brother. 

Tom cast a look over his shoulder, and changed his 
course. Little by little he brought the skiff into the 
center of the cove, where there were perhaps a dozen 
motor boats, tied to their moorings like so many 
horses. One of these, about twenty-six feet in length, 
was freshly painted white, and carried on her bow the 
number B-582. It was the Sennett boat, and in a 
few minutes Tom had brought them alongside. His 
father and brother climbed over the rail, leaving 
Tom to untie the painter, make the skiff fast at the 
stern of the motor boat, and then get aboard. 

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! 

The father had started the engine. He straightened 
up and took hold of the upright stick by means of 
which the boat was steered, and they set out over the 
water. Elmer stood beside him; Tom established him¬ 
self on top of a small barrel that smelled violently of 
herring. 

"Got plenty of bait? 55 asked Elmer. 

"Sure, 55 said Tom, and got off the barrel to peep 
under the cover. 

Elmer pointed off toward a block of bright yellow 
wood. It was roughly of the size of a small football, 
and it was floating on top of the water. 

"Whose buoy is that? 55 he asked his father. 


6 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


“Sam Murray’s.” 

More buoys appeared, some of them yellow, others 
black, or red, or perhaps with a combination of col¬ 
ors. Each of these marked the location of a lobster 
trap, and on each buoy there was carved the name and 
number of the fisherman who owned it. The number 
was the number of his license, granted him by the 
Fish Commissioner of the State of Maine, and en¬ 
titling him to fish for lobsters. The difference in the 
colors of the buoys was, of course, merely for the 
purpose of telling them apart. 

At last Henry Sennett slackened speed, to glide 
quietly in the direction of a red and white buoy. It 
was his, marking the position of the first of the sixty- 
four lobster traps he had about the floor of Pelly’s 
Cove. Elmer caught up a gaff, bent over the rail, and 
adroitly hooked up the rope which descended into the 
water from a hole in the buoy. 

“Who’s going to haul?” he asked. 

“I am!” exclaimed Tom, and in an instant he was 
into an oilskin coat and was tying a rubber apron 
about his waist. Thus protected against too much 
wetness, he seized the rope and began to pull in on it, 
rapidly until he had taken up the slack, and then 
more slowly, because of the weight of the trap he 
was lifting. A lobster trap is baited, tied to a small but 
strong rope, and lowered to the bottom, after which 
it is pulled up every day or so, to see what has been 
caught in it. By this time Tom had brought the trap 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


7 


itself into sight: it was a cumbersome thing that re¬ 
sembled a chicken coop, with several differences. Per¬ 
haps a yard in length, the trap was flat on the bottom 
and semicircular on top, and for the most part was 
made of laths, with narrow cracks between. Each 
end, however, was constructed, not of laths, but of 
stout twine netting, drawn tightly in toward the 
middle of the trap and also upward from the bot¬ 
tom, so that a lobster could crawl up it, tumble 
through the wire ring at its mouth, and find it very 
difficult to get back the way he came. 

"We’ve got something!” announced Tom. 

He took hold of the heavy trap, Elmer helping 
him. Together they pulled it out of the water and 
balanced it on the edge of the motor boat. Inside 
the trap there were a number of rocks, put there to 
keep it from moving too much with the tide, and in 
addition to the rocks there were two lobsters and a 
crab. 

"A good beginning,” said Elmer, with satisfaction. 

The father nodded, unfastening the door in the 
top of the trap. The crab he tossed back into the 
water as worthless; then he turned his attention to the 
lobsters. On top they were dark green with a tend¬ 
ency toward splotchy color, and on the under side 
a light yellowish red. 

"One counter and one short,” said Henry Sennett. 

By the term "counter” he meant a lobster that 
is legally big enough to keep, a "short” being one that 


8 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


is too small for a fisherman to retain. The distinc¬ 
tion is a matter of law. In Maine, at this particular 
time, a lobster was not a counter unless it measured 
at least three and a half inches from the rear of one 
eyestalk to the rear of the body shell, beyond which 
the creature becomes mere tail. And in order that 
there be no misunderstanding about it, lobstermen 
carried with them a small metal measure, provided by 
the Fish Commissioner for this very purpose. 

"Both of them look like counters to me / 5 objected 
Tom, and picked up the measure. 

Henry Sennett dropped the larger lobster into 
the bottom of the boat and handed the other to 
Tom. The boy gripped it just behind the waving 
claws, placed one knob of the measure at the eye- 
stalk, and wiggled the other end back and forth at 
the rear of the body shell. 

"Heave him overboard,” said his brother. "Five 
dollars fine for every short lobster is too much to 
risk. He’s no counter.” 

Tom tossed the creature into the water, and at once 
it lost its air of being awkward and sluggish. One flip 
of the powerful tail sent it back down into the water 
with such swiftness that the eye could not follow it. 
A flash, and it was gone. 

Meantime the father was putting fresh bait in the 
trap. Taking out a little net bag which had been 
hanging down inside the trap, he emptied it, refilled 
it with new herring from their bait barrel, and hung 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


9 


it back inside the trap, to tempt more lobsters to 
their undoing. Then they lowered the trap back 
down into the water and set out for the next 
buoy. 

They had started early, yet by this time there were 
at least half a dozen motor boats popping about in 
their neighborhood. Here and there darted the lob- 
stermen, occasionally coming to a standstill in order 
to haul a trap, and afterward moving on. The Sen- 
netts had their traps in widely scattered places, some¬ 
times in water no more than two fathoms deep, at 
other times in ten fathoms of water and at a consider¬ 
able distance from shore. Many of their buoys were 
alone, on other occasions they found the vicinity 
thick with bobbing blocks of wood of various colors. 
Lobsters may be found on any hard bottom, such as 
clay, gravel, or rock, and every licensed fisherman is 
free to set his traps where he likes. 

"Here comes the smack,” said Tom presently. 

Off toward the south the cove gradually widened 
into the open sea, and now, as they looked in that 
direction, they saw what they familiarly called the 
Portland smack. The smack — so called because she 
was used to transport lobsters — was a vessel some 
sixty feet in length, run by a gasoline engine, and 
carrying a crew of two men, including her captain. 
Henry Sennett watched her push in from the sea, a 
puzzled expression on his face. 

"What’s the matter?” asked Elmer quickly. 


10 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"She’s headin’ this way,” was the father’s reply. 
"Generally she makes straight for the wharf.” 

He shut off the engine, waiting for the smack to 
come up. The vessel cut down her speed. She came 
slowly closer, her captain on the forward deck. The 
Sennetts recognized him as a man by the name of 
McLain, a rough, blunt fellow who was inclined to be 
violent. When the smack had drifted up alongside 
the little motor boat, Captain McLain waved briefly 
and called out: 

"Mornin’.” 

"How are ye?” answered Henry Sennett. 

"Not so bad. I hear you're ailin’, though.” 

"That so?” 

"Yes,” said the captain gruffly. "I understand you 
ain’t satisfied with the price of lobsters.” 

"Why should I be?” came the answer. "Last year 
at this time we was gettin’ thirty cents a pound; now 
it’s twenty-one.” 

"Twenty, you mean.” 

"What’s that?” demanded Henry Sennett, flushing. 

"I said twenty cents a pound was the price to¬ 
day.” 

The boys gazed at their father with lengthening 
faces. Like innumerable other families along the 
Maine coast, the Sennetts lived almost entirely from 
what their lobsters brought, so that a drop of a cent 
a pound was no light matter. They knew vaguely 
that the price had been gradually dropping, but not 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


11 


for years had fishermen got as little as twenty cents 
a pound. 

"Twenty,” muttered Henry Sennett, looking hard 
at the captain. "And next week I s’pose it’ll be nine¬ 
teen.” 

"Maybe so,” admitted the smackman. "Depends 
on the market.” 

"Yes, I know how it depends on the market.” 

"Oh, you do, do you!” said Captain McLain. 
"Well, don’t get to knowing too much, Sennett. 
You get all your lobsters are worth, and you ought 
to be satisfied.” 

"Well, I’m not satisfied,” was the retort. "And 
neither is anybody else around this cove, I cal’late.” 

The captain opened his mouth for an angry rejoin¬ 
der, but Henry Sennett had started his engine and 
was going on, his face grim. He headed for his next 
buoy, muttering in disgust: 

"Pretty soon it won’t pay a man to even go and 
haul his traps. Just runnin’ this little boat, and 
keepin’ my traps in order, costs me a couple of dol¬ 
lars a day. That means some lobsters, at twenty cents 
a pound, and no two ways about it.” 

"Why does the price of lobsters always go down?” 
asked Tom, helplessly. "I should think it might go 
up, once in a while.” 

"It used to,” said the father, shutting off the en¬ 
gine, "but that was when we had competin’ buyers 
in here. I can remember when there was a dozen 


12 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


different people cornin’ to Pelly’s Cove to buy lob¬ 
sters, and if any of ’em offered us fishermen too little 
for ’em, why, the others would bid him up, and we 
got a fair price. Then the big buyers got together 
and formed an association; they shut out the little 
fellows by gettin’ a law passed that every smack has 
to be bonded for five thousand dollars, and when 
they did that it was just a Ring in control of every¬ 
thing. So then they began to set the prices just about 
to suit themselves, like you see they’re doin’ now.” 

Tom pulled the trap out of the water. There was 
nothing in it. The father changed the bait, Elmer 
asking: 

"Is Fred Whipple in with the Ring?” 

"Why, sure. Whipple is the man we got to sell 
our lobsters to, because there’s nobody else allowed 
to buy in the cove. He’s just the hired man, takin’ 
orders from McLain just like McLain takes orders 
from the Tig fellows’ in Portland. As soon as McLain 
ties up at the wharf over there, he’ll start loadin’ the 
lobsters all the fishermen around here has been 
catchin’ and sellin’ to Whipple, and before he leaves 
he’ll tell Whipple to pay only twenty cents a pound, 
until further orders.” 

"Yes,” objected Tom, "but why doesn’t some¬ 
body start competition? A five-thousand-dollar bond 
oughtn’t to be so hard to raise.” 

"Harder’n you think for,” returned his father. 
"You’d have to watch sharp or you’d lose your bond 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


13 


money, too. . . . What! don’t you understand 
that?” 

Silently the boys shook their heads. They were 
coming to realize how little they really knew about 
the business of lobstering. 

"It’s simple enough,” said the father. "If anybody 
outside the Ring tried to run a smack in here, why, 
they’d complain to the Fish Commissioner that he 
was carryin’ short lobsters, and if the wardens 
couldn’t find enough doubtful ones to call ’em short, 
the dealers in the Ring would plant them on him. 
A fish warden can board a boat and look for shorts 
any time he wants to, and when he found shorts on 
your smack you’d forfeit the five-thousand-dollar 
bond, and the vessel besides. Understand?” 

The brothers nodded, at a loss as to what to say. 
They went on toward the next buoy, Tom staring at 
the water, Elmer slipping heavy rubber bands over 
the claws of the lobsters they had caught. Lob¬ 
sters frequently injure or kill each other with their 
huge claws, and accordingly the fisherman either in¬ 
serts a small wooden peg into the hole in which the 
movable part of the claw works to and fro, so that it 
cannot open; or he slips on rubber bands, as Elmer 
had just done. The next trap was empty. 

"We’ll move it,” said the father. "This is the third 
time I’ve hauled here without getting anything.” 

The trap was pulled up and laid across the back of 
the boat. Then they went off across the cove in the 


14 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


direction of Apple Island. This was chiefly a mass 
of rocks surmounted by a clump of dark firs, but 
toward the lower end of it appeared a bit of cleared 
land, a tumbledown hut, and a gnarled apple tree. 
The tree had been planted there by a hermit many 
years before, and from the apples that he now and 
then gathered had come the name of the place. 
Around the end of the island chugged the Sennett 
motor boat, suddenly within view of a boat in which 
sat a man and also a boy about Tom’s age. 

"There’s Bart Randall and his father,” said Tom. 
"Can’t we stop a minute, Dad?” 

The motor boat eased down, the Randalls turn¬ 
ing to see who it was. They were hauling nets, the 
father pulling them in while his son picked out the 
seaweed and folded them neatly in the bottom of the 
boat. Occasionally they took out fish, haddock 
mostly, caught by the gills in the meshes of the net. 
Judging from the line of cork buoys floating out 
ahead of them, they still had plenty of work to do, 
yet they paused when the Sennett boat came up, 
ready to talk. 

"Gettin’ any fish?” asked Henry Sennett, while the 
boys grinned and waved at each other. 

"Not many. How are the lobsters?” 

"Plenty of lobsters, but the price keeps goin’ down.” 

Randall looked serious, and said nothing. He was 
a tall, ragged man, and rather indolent in appearance. 
The son, Bart, was livelier, but so far as clothes were 


HOW IT ALL BEGAN 


15 


concerned he was even shabbier. Father and son lived 
alone in a shack near the shore, and they had the 
reputation of being ne’er-do-wells, though there was 
nothing definite against them. 

"Yes, sir,” continued Henry Sennett resentfully, 
"that bunch of dealers up there to Portland is gettin’ 
to be as bad as a pack of dogfish. There’s no livin’ 
with ’em. I’ve just about made up my mind that 
somethin’s got to be done.” 

And still Randall did not respond. He appeared 
to be unwilling to talk about it; in fact, Sennett’s 
complaint against the Lobster Ring had actually made 
him uneasy. The man plucked at the net in his hands, 
curiously silent and embarrassed. Henry Sennett 
noticed his manner, and said in a casual tone: 

"Well, we’ve got to get along.” 

"Bart, come over to-morrow,” called Tom. "It’s 
Sunday, and we’ll do something.” 

"All right, I will,” said Bart, and flashed them a 
smile that was in strange contrast with his ordinarily 
somber face. "I’ll be there.” 

The three lobstermen moved away in their boat, 
Elmer murmuring: 

"Did you notice how nervous Mr. Randall acted? 
I wonder why that was.” 

"Probably afraid of the Lobster Ring,” declared 
Tom. "He quit lobstering all of a sudden two years 
ago. Maybe they forced him out, and he’s never got 
over it. . . . I hope they won’t try anything on 


16 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


you, Dad, for saying what you did to McLain. 5 ’ 

Henry Sennett looked about. Slowing his boat 
down he let the lobster trap slide off into the water, 
carrying the rope and the red and white buoy with it. 
Then he turned to the boys, his voice low and steady: 
"I don’t think they will.” 


I 

Chapter Two 


THE PLOT 


B oth Elmer and his father scoffed at the idea, but 
Tom kept suspecting that something would come 
of their tilt with the captain of the lobster smack. 
And a week later he was certain of it. 

The Sennetts had finished hauling their traps one 
day, and were heading toward the Whipple pier, a 
heap of crawling lobsters in the bottom of their boat. 
Henry Sennett was steering, and the boys were gazing 
idly ahead. The pier ran out from the shore a short 
distance and at the end was capped by a small build¬ 
ing which served the lobster buyer as an office. A 
fisherman by the name of Nat Gilbert was some dis¬ 
tance ahead of the Sennett boat, and at the sound of 
his engine Whipple came out of his office, walked 
across the pier, and descended a gangway to a kind of 
platform. This platform was in reality a lobster 
"car,” that is to say, a stout wooden crate some twenty 
feet square and six deep, with the boards close enough 
together to keep in lobsters, and yet far enough apart 


17 


18 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


to permit water to flow through. The car lay in the 
water, its lower part submerged, but its top above 
the surface. It was in this car that Whipple collected 
the lobsters he bought of the fishermen in Pelly’s 
Cove and later turned over to the smack to carry to 
Portland. 

"Nat couldn’t have had many,” commented Henry 
Sennett, nodding toward the Gilbert boat, which was 
already on its way again. 

Elmer shut off their engine, and the boat glided 
slowly up to the buying platform. Tom seized a rope 
which the lobster dealer tossed him, deftly snubbing 
their boat to a standstill. The father exchanged a nod 
with Whipple, a fat, unshaven man with an air of 
being friends with everyone in the world. 

"Get any to-day?” he smiled at them. 

"Oh, a few,” replied Henry Sennett, and began to 
toss his lobsters out on to the platform, one at a time. 

"You always get lobsters,” said the buyer pleasantly. 

"I get ’em,” was the retort, "but I don’t get any¬ 
thing for ’em. Still payin’ nineteen cents, I s’pose?” 

"Yes, but that’s better than eighteen, eh, Henry?” 

The sound of voices interrupted them. A party of 
city people had appeared on the pier, and were gazing 
down at the curious business of dealing in lobsters. 
Whipple seized on them as an excuse to change the 
subject. 

"Rusticators is with us again,” he observed. "Queer 
folks, them rusticators.” 


THE PLOT 


19 


"Yes,” said Sennett, "and one of the queerest things 
about ’em is that they always have to pay top prices 
for the lobsters they buy of you, Fred. The price may 
be down to the fisherman, but it’s up to the rustica- 
tors. I hear them restaurants up Boston way is still 
chargin’ a dollar and a half for a broiled live lobster, 
too. A dollar and a half for a lobster that we get about 
thirty cents for!” 

Whipple reached for a tin tub and began silently 
to fill it with the lobsters that the boys and their 
father had tossed up. The buyer examined them 
closely, passing them without comment until he came 
to one that looked rather small. 

"Short, ain’t he?” he asked. 

"Measure him.” 

The buyer applied his metal measure to the lob¬ 
ster, grating the end of it heavily back and forth 
along the edge of the body shell. 

"Of course he’ll be short, if you rub off the edge 
of his shell,” said Henry Sennett bluntly. 

"I guess he’s a counter,” announced the buyer. 
"Kind of on the line, but I’ll risk him.” 

The boys noticed that Whipple said this as if he 
were doing them a favor, and presently they saw he 
had something more to say on the subject. He put 
the last of the lobsters into the tub, but instead of at 
once setting them on his scales and weighing them he 
observed sagely: 

"Yes, sirree, the difference between a short lobster 


20 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


and a legal lobster is mighty thin sometimes. About 
a thousandth of an inch difference, and he either 
goes back in the water or into somebody’s plate.” 

"What are you tryin’ to come at?” said Henry 
Sennett, as blunt as before. 

"HI tell ye,” answered the buyer, and, having made 
certain that the rusticators could not hear, he went 
on smoothly: "I got to stay inside the law, of course, 
but at the same time it’s too bad to turn down lobsters 
that’s right on the line, especially with the price down 
the way it is. So let’s suppose you save the ones that’s 
just about counters, and I’ll see if I can’t put the 
measure on ’em so’s they’ll be legal size. In a month 
or so that would put some heft in the scales, eh, 
Henry?” 

"It would all right,” replied Sennett, in a non¬ 
committal tone. Then he nodded toward the lobsters 
he had just brought in, adding: "How about the heft 
in that tub?” 

Whipple weighed it. There were twenty-two lob¬ 
sters, and they weighed thirty pounds and eight 
ounces, or an average of a little less than a pound and 
a half apiece. The buyer did some figuring with the 
stub of a pencil, and announced: 

"Five dollars and eighty cents, that what you make 
it? How about some gas?” 

Up on the pier stood a red gasoline tank, and from 
this a long ropelike hose ran down the gangway and 
to the buying platform. Many of the fishermen 


THE PLOT 


21 


habitually bought gasoline here, receiving for their 
lobsters only the difference between the price and 
what they paid for gasoline. Sennett nodded, and 
the lobster buyer put five gallons into the motor boat, 
paying over the balance in cash. 

"All right, Henry,” he said affably. "See you to¬ 
morrow.” 

The engine started with a noisy popping sound, and 
the Sennetts slipped off in the direction of home. 

"I knew it!” exclaimed Tom, as soon as they were 
out of Whipple’s hearing. "Dad, they’re tryin to 
make you keep still by offering to buy doubtful lob¬ 
sters of us.” 

"Trading favors!” said Elmer scornfully. 

The father opened his thin tight lips, contempt in 
his voice: "I’d never trade favors with people that’s 
robbin’ us fishermen, even if it was within the law, 
which it ain’t. From now on we’ll just be a little more 
careful than ordinary about measurin’ lobsters, so 
Fred Whipple can’t claim he’s helpin’ us get a few 
pennies more for our catch.” 

Henry Sennett said this with an air of finality, but 
the matter was not finished, as they were to discover. 
Two weeks went by. It was the middle of July, and 
nothing had happened. Then one day as they were 
making for the buying pier with their haul of lob¬ 
sters, Elmer pointed to the north shore of the cove, 
exclaiming: 

"Grandpa’s got a flag up!” 


22 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"That’s good,” said Tom, with a pleased face. "He’s 
coming over to our house for dinner.” 

All three of them gazed interestedly in the direc¬ 
tion of the flag. Grandpa Sennett’s property included 
a rickety wharf, an old schooner, and a strip of 
meadow land which sloped up to a big white house. 
The boys’ grandmother was dead, and Grandpa lived 
alone, at a distance of about a mile from his son’s 
family. Now and then he announced to them that he 
was coming over to dinner, by running up a flag, as 
he had done to-day. 

"Let me off at the old clam factory,” said Henry 
Sennett, "and I’ll go up to the store and get a cake. 
Grandpa’s got to have chocolate cake, and your 
mother hasn’t baked lately. I’ll cut through the 
woods, and you boys can go on to Whipple’s, and 
then home.” 

They let him off and went on to the buying pier 
alone. Elmer tossed out their catch, handing up last 
of all a lobster known to the fishermen as a punch- 
tail. This was a female, carrying under her tail a mass 
of eggs which were turning from dark to reddish, 
a sign that they were nearing the hatching stage. 
Lobsters of this type are a valuable means of in¬ 
creasing the supply; therefore the law declares that 
they cannot go to market but must be turned over to 
some buyer representing the Fish Commissioner. This 
buyer pays the fisherman for it; then he punches a 
small hole in the middle flipper of the lobster and 


THE PLOT 


23 


liberates it, after which it is the property of the State 
of Maine and must always be put back into the water 
as soon as it is caught and recognized as a punch- 
tail. 

"Sixteen pounds of counters/’ said Whipple, "and 
a punch-tail. That all, boys?” 

The brothers looked at him in surprise, whereupon 
he laughed and said confidentially: 

"You remember what we were talking about that 
time, don’t ye?” 

"Line lobsters, you mean?” asked Tom. 

"Yes, I thought maybe you’d have a few for me 
this morning. It means money in your dad’s pocket, 
and I guess he needs it, don’t he?” 

"He needs it, all right,” retorted Elmer, with a trace 
of his father’s blunt way of speaking, "but we’re not 
selling shorts.” 

"Shorts, who said shorts!” exclaimed the buyer, in 
apparent surprise. "I said line lobsters, ones that could 
be made to go for either shorts or counters.” 

Tom gave the buyer a curious smile: "And what’s 
Dad supposed to do in return for a favor like that?” 

"Nothing,” declared Whipple amiably, "nothing at 
all. Why, I—” 

The sound of an approaching motor boat broke off 
their conversation. Another fisherman was coming 
up, and so the boys moved off, Elmer steering while 
his brother gazed up the shore in the direction his 
father had taken. 


24 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


”1 don’t see Dad,” he announced, "'but I think that’s 
Bart Randall coming down the path. Hey, Bart!” 

Bart looked up, waved briefly in response to Tom 
Sennett’s violent gesture, and then promptly turned 
off in another direction. 

"What’s the matter with him?” demanded Tom, 
frowning. "Here lately he acts as if he didn’t want to 
see us.” 

"Yes, and he didn’t come over to the house that 
Sunday, either,” said Elmer. "I was wondering about 
that, myself.” 

"Next time I see him — ” began Tom, and suddenly 
pitched forward, thrown off his balance by the sud¬ 
den swerving of the boat. He recovered himself, cry¬ 
ing out sharply: "What are you trying to do?” 

Elmer stopped the engine, gazing intently over the 
side of the boat. In the bright sunlight the surface of 
the water looked reddish, and when Tom saw it he 
gave a whoop. 

"Lobsters!” he cried. "Just hatched!” 

They let the boat drift slowly through the multi¬ 
tudes of tiny animals that had given the water its un¬ 
usual color. A single female lobster, such as the 
punch-tail they had just sold, can produce as many as 
a hundred thousand eggs; after she has carried these 
about with her for some ten or eleven months, they 
hatch. This occurs on the bottom, in relatively shal¬ 
low water, and generally at twilight or at night. As 
soon as they are out of the eggs, the young lobsters are 
free-swimming creatures, less than an inch in length, 


THE PLOT 


25 


and yet recognizable as lobsters. The body is divided 
as in the adult, though in the infant stage the body 
wall is so nearly transparent as to show the heart, 
blood vessels, and alimentary canal. At dawn, the day 
following their birth, the small creatures swim to the 
surface of the water, and here they remain for a short 
period, kicking and reeling about with an awkward 
gait, attacking anything in their neighborhood, and 
devouring whatever they can get in their mouths. 
Tom caught up a handful of them, murmuring: 

"There must be millions and millions of them right 
in this cove. Wouldn’t you think we’d get our traps 
chock full, when these fellows grow up?” 

"Just it,” said Elmer, "most of them don’t get a 
chance to grow up. They’ve got to get a hard shell, 
grow a lot, and sink down to the bottom where they 
can hide under rocks and in seaweed before they’re 
even half safe. And in the meantime they’re just 
so much food for forty kinds of fish.” 

"Yes,” laughed Tom, "and if they escape all that 
they smell herring, crawl up inside our traps, and pass 
out of the picture that way. Elard on lobsters, all 
right. But then we’ve got to live.” 

"We’ve got to get home,” said Elmer, and started 
the engine again. 

The motor boat plowed through the swarm of 
young lobsters and came to her mooring. They made 
her fast, got into the skiff, and rowed ashore. Along 
the beach stood an irregular row of small unpainted 
shacks. These were fish-houses, used, not as dwelling 


2 6 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


places, but as workshops and storage places. One of 
these shacks belong to Henry Sennett, but since the 
boys had no reason to open it to-day, they simply 
dragged the skiff up the beach past a litter of old 
anchors, broken spars, and rusty chains, and made it 
fast to a bush just beyond high-water mark. Then 
they set out for home. 

Twenty minutes 5 walk brought them within sight 
of the Sennett house. It was a white cottage, with a 
shed attached to one end and a stable abutting the 
shed, after the custom in many parts of rural New 
England. Smoke went up from the chimney, and as 
they came nearer Tom declared that he could smell 
dinner. 

"Fish chowder! 55 he grinned. 

It was his favorite dish, a combination of haddock, 
potatoes, onions, and milk, with the pork scraps which 
gave it part of its distinctive flavor. Tom walked on 
ahead of his brother, wondering if there would be 
pickles to go with the chowder. 

"Hello, boys, 55 said their mother, appearing briefly 
at the door. 

"Hello, Mom! 55 They walked in, noting that their 
father was already home, and in his accustomed chair 
at the window. Tom twirled his cap at the hat rack: 
"Dad, you should have seen the lobsters. Billions of 
’em, all over the top of the water. Just hatched. 55 

"The sea does its part, 55 was the father’s comment. 
"It’s our human arrangements that cause the trouble. 55 


THE PLOT 


27 


Mrs. Sennett went on with her cooking. The table 
was set, and they were only waiting for the grand¬ 
father to come. 

"Here he is now,” said Elmer, and went to the door. 
"How are you, Grandpa?” 

"Em fit’s a fiddle,” answered a jovial voice. "Don’t 
feel much like wrasslin’, though, after stumpin’ it 
clean over from my place. How be you folks?” 

The grandfather came in. He was a small white- 
headed man, eighty-two years of age, but still pos¬ 
sessed of such vigor that the cane he carried seemed 
more ornament than necessity. On his head he wore 
a battered seaman’s cap, for he had gone round the 
Horn as able seaman at the age of eighteen, and after 
that he had lived most of the time on the water, 
proud of his exploits and full of magnificent memories 
of olden times. 

"Grandpa,” said Mrs. Sennett pleasantly, "I didn’t 
have time to bake a chocolate cake, so Henry got one 
at the store. I hope you won’t mind boughten cake 
for once.” 

"Well, now,” chuckled the old sea captain, sinking 
into a chair, "ordinarily I might, at that. But this time 
it don’t make no odds, because I got somethin’ on m’ 
mind to tell ye, an’ that comes first.” 

Everyone looked at him, impressed by his man¬ 
ner. 

"What is it?” asked Henry Sennett, none too cheer¬ 
fully. 


28 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"It’s about Ikey Jones,” was the answer. "I had 
me a little talk with him this mornin’.” 

Something resembling apprehension appeared on 
the faces of the captain’s listeners. Ikey Jones was 
the local fish warden, and though he was both a friend 
and a neighbor to the Sennetts, they generally thought 
of him in his official capacity. It was Ikey Jones who 
went about in search of violations of the lobster law. 

"Ikey Jones, eh!” grunted Henry Sennett. "What 
did he have to say?” 

"Plenty, when he got warmed up to it. I thought 
at the first of it he’d jest dropped in to make some 
gossip-talk about nothin’ in particular, but by an’ by 
he up an’ says to me, he says, Cap’n, he says, you an’ 
me has knowed each other ever since Adam cut his 
eyeteeth an’ you’ve done me some mighty big favors, 
so I jest figger to do you one, or maybe I should say 
Henry, he says, but anyhow it’s all in the family. 
Looky here, Cap’n Len, he says to me, I want to know 
if Henry is savin’ short lobsters.” 

Mrs. Sennett stopped stirring the chowder, the big 
spoon motionless above the kettle. Her eyes widened. 

"That’s what he ast me,” the old man went on, 
"and I jest spoke up quicker’n scat, I says, no, what’re 
you talkin’ about! I says to ’im, there’s mighty few 
fellers around Pelly’s Cove that don’t take home a 
few shorts to eat, and there’s some that sells ’em to 
the rusticators, but I says that don’t go for the Sen¬ 
netts. Who said Henry was keepin’ shorts? I says to 


THE PLOT 


29 


him. Oh, he couldn’t tell, he says. Well, I says, there 
ain’t one ioty of truth in it, that’s dead sure.” 

"Of course not,” frowned his son, "but who was it 
put such an idea in his head?” 

"Well, he wouldn’t say in jest so many words,” 
said the captain slowly, "but from the hints he let 
drop I drawed an idy it was Fred Whipple.” 

"Fred Whipple! What reason did he have to do 
that, I’d like to know!” 

"I think I know,” put in Tom, with a flash in his 
eyes. "Fie offered to take line lobsters of us, don’t you 
remember, Dad? And to-day he sort of acted like 
he expected us to have some for him. Probably he 
was hoping we’d bring in some that were really short, 
so the warden could catch us with ’em and arrest us.” 

"Sure,” nodded Elmer. "That’s the favor he wanted 
to do us, trick us into bringing in doubtful lobsters 
and have Ikey Jones catch us.” 

The father looked grim, his wife was silently trou¬ 
bled, but Cap’n Len waxed indignant. He thumped 
on the floor with his stick, rumbling: 

"So that’s what’s been goin’ on! Nice works for a 
grown man to be up to! The boys is right. The hull 
thing fits together as purty as you please, an’ no argy- 
ment. They’re tryin’ to git ye, Henry, so’s you lose 
your license. What for, though, that’s what I don’t 
understand.” 

"I’ve been objectin’ to such low prices for lob¬ 
sters,” Henry Sennett explained. 


30 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I see, I see. You threaten to make trouble for 
’em, so they figger to punish ye by makin’ ye lose 
your license, an’ that way shut you up. Well, what 
you goin’ to do about it? Come on, Henry, out with 
somethin’, even if it ain’t so bright, as the feller says.” 

Henry Sennett was not holding back, he was merely 
choosing his words. By nature he was a man of little 
speech; nevertheless, he was truly a Sennett, and the 
Sennetts were known for their fighting blood. They 
did not back down from abuse or injustice. The boys 
looked at him proudly, knowing very well what his 
answer would be. 

"I’m goin’ to get up a petition,” he said finally, "and 
ask every lobsterman in Pelly’s Cove to sign it, so we 
can force that crowd in Portland to give us decent 
prices again. They’re squeezin’ us to death. We’ve 
got to resist, or else a man can’t earn a livin’ around 
here any more.” 

"Good!” snapped the ancient mariner. "Declare 
war on ’em! Only you be careful, Henry, an’ don’t 
run afoul of them fellers till you’re good and ready. 
No use orderin’ a bear out of blueberry patch before 
you’ve got your gun loaded. The boys here, they — ” 

"We’ll help!” exclaimed Tom excitedly, while El¬ 
mer gave his head a stiff sharp nod of assent. 

"That’s Sennett for ye!” chuckled Cap’n Len. 
"And now let’s turn to an’ have a go at some victuals. 
I figger that boughten cake ain’t agoin’ to taste so bad, 
after all!” 


Chapter Three 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


T he wind was coming strongly from the northeast 
the following morning, but Henry Sennett paid 
no attention. He was busy framing the words of his 
petition, and besides, this kind of blow rarely bothered 
the inhabitants of Pelly’s Cove. The cove was "just 
around the corner” from the open sea, snugly behind 
a neck of land which broke the force of the terrible 
northeasters that buffet the coast of Maine. 

"You boys go over to Ab York’s and kind of feel 
him out on this petition business,” directed the 
father. "I’m goin’ over to Murray’s an’ ask him to 
be the first signer.” 

Elmer and Tom went off, elated and confident. 
By now, however, there were reverses to report. Ab 
York was out pulling his traps, and Murray objected 
to being the first signer. Also, the wind was shifting. 
In a few hours it had hauled out to the southwest, 
and since the cove opened south into the open sea, 


31 


32 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


this enabled the wind to blow in upon the area in 
which their lobster traps were located. The wind 
freshened into a gale, with rain as an accompani¬ 
ment. All night it raged, and likewise the next morn¬ 
ing, until the entire surface of the cove was tumbling 
gray and desolate. 

"The petition will have to wait , 55 said Henry Sen- 
nett. "This storm is goin’ to break up some traps for 
us, and HI have to start buildin’ more of ’em right 
away, to take the place of them that’ll be lost.” 

"Tom and I can go see what the damage is,” of¬ 
fered Elmer, "so you won’t have to bother about that. 
We’ll go as soon as the storm is over.” 

"If it ever is over,” said the younger brother dis¬ 
consolately. 

Fortunately the gale died away as quickly as it had 
come. The next morning the wind was westerly, and 
the sky clear again. The boys got into their oilskins 
and rubber boots, and clumped off to the shore, eager 
to see what the southwester had done. It seemed to 
have done enough. Far back above high-water line 
there was a row of tangled kelp and rockweed, tossed 
there by the pitching waves. Pieces of broken wood 
lay about the beach, as a testimonial to the force of 
the storm. 

"I dread trying to find our traps,” murmured Tom. 

They rowed out to their motor boat. She had 
shipped a little water, but otherwise she was all right. 
Tom brightened up, and by the time they had reached 



The next four traps were in order, though only one of them 

contained a lobster. 














V.. 











♦ 









BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


35 


the first of their buoys he was optimistic again. The 
trap was there. Empty, of course, but then they 
must expect that, since a bad storm will drive lobsters 
into holes at the bottom, and keep them from wander¬ 
ing about and getting into traps. 

"Well, these traps may be made of wood, but they 
can stand a lot just the same,” declared Tom, as he 
pulled the second one. "They say a storm can move 
them a mile or so on sea bottom without hurting 
them.” 

"If there aren’t any rocks in the way,” said Elmer. 

The next four traps were in order, though only one 
of them contained a lobster. Then the boys steered off 
across the cove, slackening up when they came across 
Nat Gilbert, in his boat. 

"Quite a blow!” he called to them. 

"Yes!” 

"I was talkin’ to your granddad this morning, 
though,” continued Gilbert, laughingly, "an’ he said 
it wan’t nothin’ only a hatful o’ wind. Dear me, 
suz, he says, we don’t have no storms aroun’ these 
parts any more! I told him it was bad enough for 
me.” 

"How are your traps?” asked Elmer. 

"Most of ’em all right, so far. I see a couple of 
yours piled up over on Gull Point.” 

"Thanks.” 

The boats separated, Elmer and Tom bobbing across 
the restless water in the direction of Gull Point. It 


3 6 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


was true, as they soon discovered. High on the rocks, 
at the lower end of Gull Point, lay three of their 
traps, badly smashed. Evidently the storm had torn 
them loose from their buoys and dashed them to pieces 
here. 

“Nice piece of luck, this is,” said Tom, as they slid 
up closer. 

“We should have expected it,” was Elmer’s answer. 

“Did you expect it?” 

“Why, sure. . . . Now wait, all three of those 
traps are too broken up to take home and fix, but that 
fartherest one still has its warp. I’ll ease the boat up 
that way and you try to get it.” 

Elmer maneuvered the boat closer, while Tom took 
the gaff and managed to hook up the rope that had 
formerly connected the lobster trap with its buoy. 
He jerked it loose from the wreckage and began to 
coil it. Then suddenly he stared at the end of the rope, 
the end which had originally been fastened to the 
buoy. 

“Phew!” he whistled. 

“What’s the trouble?” asked his brother, sending 
the boat off into easier water. 

“It’s trouble, all right, or I miss my guess. Look 
at the end of this rope. That was never broken by 
the storm we had, and it wasn’t frayed in two on 
those rocks, either! What does it look like to you?” 

The elder brother took the rope in his hand, ex¬ 
amining the end of it closely. 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


37 


"Looks like it had been cut with a knife,” he said 
slowly. 

"Well, is that all you’ve got to say!” cried the 
younger brother. "I suppose you think a clam did it, 
just to sharpen his shell. Or maybe some playful 
mermaid was trying out a new knife that Papa found 
in a wreck! I tell you some fisherman cut that 
warp!” 

Elmer stopped the boat, so that he could study 
the rope end more closely. The strands were un¬ 
raveled for a distance of perhaps two inches, but 
when these were twisted back into position, it was 
clear that the rope had been severed by means of one 
clean cut, a knife cut. 

"Must have been done just before that southwester 
came along,” said the elder brother; "then the storm 
washed the trap upon the rocks. I wonder who did 
it.” 

"Fred Whipple, of course!” exclaimed Tom vio¬ 
lently. 

"Oh, wait, now, don’t go blaming anybody till 
we have some proof.” 

"Who else would it be! He’s the only person in 
Pelly’s Cove that’s working for the Lobster Ring, and 
he’s already tried to trick us into saving shorts. It 
couldn’t be spite work from any other fisherman, be¬ 
cause Dad hasn’t got any enemies. Why, he never 
had a quarrel with anybody in his life, until this argu¬ 
ment about the price of lobsters.” 


38 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Well,” said Elmer thoughtfully, "what are we 
going to do about it?” 

"Tell Dad, right off, and let him decide,” replied the 
stormy younger brother. 

"No.” 

"What!” said Tom, in surprise. "Why not?” 

"Because he’s worried enough as it is. This storm has 
ruined a lot of valuable traps for him, and when he 
gets through making more to take their place he’s got 
his petition to work up. If we told him about this 
new trouble it would be just that much more on his 
mind. Suppose you and I tend to it.” 

"Sure!” said Tom quickly. "We’ll keep watch and 
nab the fellow that’s cutting our traps loose; and 
then we’ll fix him!” 

This, however, was much easier said than done. 
The boys kept the news of the cut warp from their 
father, and while he continued to build new traps 
they in turn continued to haul those which were al¬ 
ready "fishing.” But the cove was large, and their 
traps widely scattered, so that when they watched 
they saw nothing out of the way. Then within a 
week they missed another trap, and after a long search 
found its red and white buoy floating far out beyond 
Apple Island, on its way to the open sea and oblivion. 
Eighteen inches of warp were still attached to it, the 
end of the rope showing a clean knife cut. 

"Just like the other one,” complained Tom, swal¬ 
lowing his wrath. "And this one must have been 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


3 9 


cut within the last two days, because we hauled it 
Wednesday. . . . Listen! The Portland smack was in 
here after lobsters yesterday. It may be McLain or 
somebody else aboard the smack that’s doing this. 
Don’t you think so?” 

"Yes, I do,” said Elmer quietly. "Well, we might 
as well haul the rest of our traps.” 

An hour later they found another buoy missing, but 
this time they recovered the trap. It had been set in 
sheltered calm water close to the shore, and since 
the tide was out, they were soon able to locate it, 
safely on bottom. Tom strapped an extension on to 
their gaff and drew up the warp. 

"Cut,” he muttered. 

"Tie on the other buoy,” said Elmer, then presently 
he spoke again, in a puzzled tone: "What’s that up 
there between those rocks, washing around with the 
tide?” 

Tom took a look and pronounced it something 
suspicious. As soon as the buoy was in place they 
came closer to the rocks, and while Elmer stayed in 
the motor boat, his brother got into the skiff and 
rowed ashore. Climbing down over the gray rocks, 
he hauled at the "something,” and found it to be a 
crocus bag, tied securely to a splinter of rock in such 
a way that its lower end would be under water even 
at low tide. He untied it, drew it up, and opened it. 

"Short lobsters!” he reported, in a stage whisper. 

"No, really?” 


40 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Quickly Tom replaced the bag where he had found 
it. Some one had cached the lobsters here, evidently 
planning to return — when he considered it safe — 
and retrieve them, thus evading Ikey Jones the war¬ 
den. Tom got hastily to his feet, for it was dangerous 
even to be seen near short lobsters. Mere possession 
might be taken as proof of guilt, and the penalty was 
five dollars a lobster. 

"Who do you think put them here?” he asked. 

"Sh-h-h,” cautioned Elmer. "There’s somebody up 
behind those spruces.” 

They gave the spruces a long steady look, and a 
moment later Bart Randall walked out from behind 
them. He came sheepishly down to the shore, trying 
to smile. 

"Hello,” he said. 

"Hello, Bart. What are you doing?” 

"Nothing,” was the answer. Bart’s eyes went to 
the bag of lobsters, with an air of having seen it be¬ 
fore. 

"Shorts,” said Elmer. 

"Yes.” 

"Are they yours?” 

"No,” said Bart, and added, with a trace of resent¬ 
ment, "are they yours?” 

"No,” laughed Tom. "Where have you been lately? 
I thought you were coming over.” 

Bart regarded them with a somber eye. All at once 
he seemed worried, and also a bit suspicious. 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


41 


"I was,” he said, "but I’ve been busy.” 

"Yes, you have!” scoffed Tom. "Well, don’t come 
if you don’t want to.” 

"That isn’t it,” said Bart weakly, and sank down 
on a rock. "My dad asked me to stay away from you 
folks, and I’ve got to do it.” 

The Sennett boys gaped in amazement. Before 
they could recover themselves, Bart went on dully: 

"It’s because of your father. Everybody knows he 
is going to fight the Lobster Ring, and my dad doesn’t 
want any one to think we’re mixed up in it.” 

"Why is that?” asked Elmer frankly. "I thought 
he sided with the lobstermen, because he used to be one 
himself. Father is getting up a petition to make the 
Ring go up on its price, and we thought your dad 
would sign it, just to help things along.” 

"No,” said Bart, "he wouldn’t sign. You better tell 
your father not to bring it over, because it might get 
us into trouble.” 

"What do you mean?” put in Tom. 

"I don’t know,” was the answer, "but my dad is 
afraid of that Whipple-McLain crowd, and I know 
it’ll make it bad for us if they think he’s helping you 
people.” 

There was a painful silence, then Tom got back 
into the punt, murmuring: 

"Well, we don’t want to get you into trouble. I 
guess we’d better be going.” 

"Yes,” added his brother, "before some one sees 


42 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


us hanging around those short lobsters there. See 
you later, Bart.” 

Bart did not reply. He looked at them dejectedly, 
then rose and shambled off up the shore. 

"So that’s the trouble!” said Tom, and launched 
into a hot denunciation of the lobster dealers in Port¬ 
land and whatever hold they had on Bart’s father. 

As for Elmer, he said nothing, but merely steered 
the boat toward the last of their traps. The two boys 
were altogether different in type, and the difficulty 
now confronting them was emphasizing this differ¬ 
ence. Like his mother’s people, the Gammages, Tom 
was possessed of quick, warm emotions, often change¬ 
able as he was fiery. Elmer, on the other hand, was a 
real Sennett, reserved and cautious, and inclined to 
keep his deepest, strongest feelings mostly to himself. 
He made little comment upon Tom’s strong talk, 
but hunted out the next red and white buoy, and 
silently motioned for his brother to gaff it in. 

Tom hauled up the trap, and stared. For though at 
first sight there appeared to be two lobsters in the 
trap, there was in reality only one. The actual lob¬ 
ster was a "shedder,” by which is meant a lobster 
which has just got rid of its hard outer shell; and the 
"other lobster” was only the discarded husk, though 
at a little distance it looked to be a live animal, so 
neatly had the former occupant left it. When a lob¬ 
ster grows to be too large for his shell, he sheds it, 
emerging as a noticeably larger creature, provided 
with a thin, papery covering which requires six or 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


43 


eight weeks to harden completely. Lobsters generally 
molt, or shed, in among rocks or seaweed, in order to 
be relatively safe from strong-jawed enemies, but this 
particular one had happened into a trap. 

"Which was the wrong place,” observed Tom. 
"You’re no good to us.” 

Nor to any one else, for that matter. The new lob¬ 
ster was soft and watery, altogether incapable of 
standing transportation to market, and without value 
if he did succeed in getting there. The flesh of such 
lobsters becomes, when cooked, merely a tasteless 
remnant of what it would otherwise be. The boys 
examined the creature with curious eyes, and pre¬ 
pared to let him go. 

"Pick him up in both hands,” advised Elmer, and 
held the trap steady. 

Tom took up the delicate thing as gently as possible, 
lest he injure it. Carefully he let it down into the 
water, and there, as if descending an invisible stair¬ 
case, the lobster slid backward toward the bottom, to 
hunt out a place to hide and wait for his shell to 
harden. With a laugh Tom tossed the old shell out of 
the trap. 

"It’s too bad we can’t get out of our shell and make 
folks believe we’re still in it,” he remarked; "then 
maybe we could catch the rascal that’s cutting our 
traps adrift.” 

The elder brother thought that over on the way 
home. 

"Well, we can’t molt,” he said finally, "but we can 


44 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


hide away near our traps, and wait and see if any¬ 
body comes to cut them loose.” 

"Hide near sixty odd traps, scattered all over the 
cove!” jeered Tom. "You’re mixed up, Brother.” 

"No, I’m not. We’ve got a pretty good idea that 
somebody from the smack is to blame, and the smack 
will be in again next week; when it comes, we’ll load 
up two or three brand-new traps that Dad has made, 
go over to Whipple’s for gas — ” 

"What’s all that for?” 

"Bait,” said Elmer patiently. "They’d rather cut 
loose new traps than old ones, because it would spite 
us more. By going for gas we’ll be right alongside 
the smack, and that way they’ll see what we’ve got, 
then we’ll take out for Apple Island.” 

Tom gave a vigorous nod: "I see what you’re driv¬ 
ing at. There aren’t many traps off that far, and 
that’s the general location of all the traps they’ve 
cut for us up till now. Good idea.” 

The rest of the plan they developed during the 
next few days, while they were waiting for the smack 
to put in an appearance. Everything went smoothly. 
The smack nosed into the cove early Tuesday morn¬ 
ing and tied up to Whipple’s pier, while her crew 
clambered ashore for the day. They were on an easy 
schedule, and according to their custom would prob¬ 
ably be here until to-morrow. Elmer and Tom pulled 
their traps, sold their catch, and went home. Their 
father was off talking to some of the neighbors about 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


45 


his lobster petition, but the shed was full of new 
traps, and just now that was the boy’s chief concern. 
Early in the afternoon they loaded two of them on to 
the wheelbarrow and took turns pushing it down the 
rocky path to the shore. The traps went into the 
skiff, and from the skiff into the motor boat, after 
which they headed for Whipple’s pier. No one but 
Fred Whipple was about, but he was plainly interested. 

"Brand-new traps?” he inquired, as Elmer sig¬ 
naled for gasoline. "My, it would be a shame to lose 
nice traps like them in a blow like we had a while 
back, wouldn’t it!” 

"Yes, but we don’t have a storm like that every 
day,” observed Tom. 

"That’s right,” and the lobsterman gave them a 
smile. 

Without even glancing at the smack the boys 
started their engine and pointed a course straight for 
Apple Island. Around the southern end they went, 
and in a sheltered spot where there were only a few 
buoys they attached new warps and new buoys to 
the traps and let them slide overboard. 

The rest of the afternoon they spent at home, 
silently speculating on the outcome of their venture, 
and now and then exchanging a secret glance which 
their mother did not notice. At the supper table 
Elmer said, as casually as he knew how: 

"We thought we might go for hake to-night, Mom, 
if you haven’t any objections.” 


46 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Hake!” answered Mrs. Sennett. "Well, I’d like 
a corned hake well enough, but it seems to me it’d 
keep you up pretty late, especially when you’ve got to 
get up so early to go to your traps.” 

"We thought we might make a night of it,” said 
Tom, glancing at his father, "and pull some of our 
traps on the way back, about sun-up.” 

"Land sakes, about sun-up?” said the mother. 

"Earlier the better,” remarked Elmer. "The water’s 
calmer then. Is that all right, Mom?” 

"Why, yes, if your father doesn’t mind.” 

Their father did not mind. He nodded absently and 
said something about going over to see Jard Kittredge 
about the petition. As a matter of fact, Henry Sen- 
net was too bothered with his petition to notice any¬ 
thing unusual. So far he had gathered only four sig¬ 
natures, with but small prospect of many more. Most 
of his neighbors were afraid a petition would do no 
good, and some of them feared it would do a great 
deal of harm. Briefly, they argued, their names on 
such a document might easily subject them to the 
wrath of the buyers’ association, or the Ring, as it 
was known in Pelly’s Cove. 

"Do you boys want a lunch?” aked Mrs. Sennett. 

"Yes, if it isn’t too much trouble,” said Elmer. 

She put up some lunch for them, and about dark 
they took their fishing equipment and set out. For an 
hour or so they fished for hake on the eastern side of 
the cove, but without enthusiasm. Then by common 


BROTHERS IN AMBUSH 


47 


consent they started for Apple Island, keeping as far 
away from Whipple’s pier as possible, lest their boat 
be heard and recognized. 

"The smack’s still there,” said Tom, and pointed to 
a dark bulk, faintly marked by a riding light. "I 
have an idea we’ll ambush ’em this time, don’t you?” 

"Well,” answered the elder brother, "there’s no 
sense in bragging, but I kind o’ have an idea we will 
— if they come.” 


Chapter Four 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 


H ow about right along in here?” said Tom, when 
they were well past the spot where they had set 
the two new lobster traps. 

"All right,” and his brother shut off the engine. 
They put out their anchor, and looked carefully 
about. The water was smooth, but it no longer glit¬ 
tered in the moonlight. Stars and moon were grow¬ 
ing dimmer, obscured by a thin film of cloud. That 
would make it harder for the boys to see, yet it would 
also make it more difficult for passers-by to distinguish 
objects near shore, and as a consequence Elmer and 
Tom were less likely to be discovered, as they lay in 
their boat. 

"Now for that long wait,” murmured the younger 
brother, and settled himself comfortably against the 
bait barrel. "When shall we eat, now or along about 
midnight, say?” 

"You can eat your half any time you want to,” 
said Elmer. 


48 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 


49 


Tom reached for the lunch: "I’d better begin now, 
then. . . . Of course, if I got hungry before morning 
you’d loan me a sandwich, wouldn’t you?” 

"Don’t count on it,” was the answer. "And let’s 
not talk so much. Somebody might hear us.” 

"Oh, that’s all right, we’d hear them coming up 
in their boat long before they ever heard us talk¬ 
ing.” 

Nevertheless Tom quieted down, munching and 
thinking. He gazed contentedly at their boat, proud 
of her abilities. The father had built her himself, and 
at odd moments free from school the boys had helped 
him. They knew every detail of her construction, 
they were acquainted with her peculiarities in han¬ 
dling, and, most reassuring of all, they could rely on 
her engine to enable them to catch any other small 
boat in the cove. The ordinary lobsterman in Pelly’s 
Cove had at best a four-cylinder engine, capable of 
making seven or eight knots an hour. The Sennett 
boat, on the contrary, was equipped with an old auto¬ 
mobile engine; it had six cylinders, with gear shifts as 
in a car, was capable of developing twenty-four horse 
power in the water, and could do better than fourteen 
knots an hour. It had cost them ten dollars at an 
automobile junk-yard, and to-night it would pay 
for itself — if a certain marauder appeared and cut 
loose their traps again. 

"Getting foggy,” said Elmer, shortly after mid¬ 
night. 


50 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Um,” murmured Tom, and reached for one of 
his brother’s sandwiches. 

"Thanks,” said Elmer dryly, taking it out of his 
hand. "I was getting a little mite hungry.” 

The younger brother yawned and took a nap. Time 
went by. It was cool and very quiet. No stars, and 
no moon. Shreds of fog continued to drift over 
them, coming always from the east. Elmer could 
feel his clothes grow damp and sticky. The fog both¬ 
ered him, for if it got much thicker their unknown 
enemy would not venture out to try to locate their 
traps. By this time it was almost dawn, and the hoarse 
crying of seabirds was coming to him across the water. 

"What time is it?” said Tom sleepily. 

"About time to go home,” answered Elmer. 

Yet he made no move to start the engine. Some 
sixth sense told him to wait. He turned his head to 
listen. A motor boat was approaching, the regular 
popping of its engine gradually closer and closer. 
Tom was instantly awake, and listening. 

"Maybe that’s our man,” he whispered. 

"It could be somebody pulling his traps,” said Elmer 
cautiously. 

"No, it isn’t. All the traps around here belong to 
either us or Jard Kittredge, and Kittredge is too lazy 
to get out this early.” 

"Sh-h-h!” 

The boat was closer. It had begun to move slowly 
and in circles, as if the occupant were searching for 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 51 

something that the fog had hidden. The two brothers 
were growing excited; from long practice they were 
able to identify most motor boats in the cove by 
the mere sound of the engine, but this one they did 
not recognize. Certainly it was not Jard Kittredge’s, 
which meant that the prowler had no legitimate busi¬ 
ness here. 

All at once the strange engine stopped. The boys 
could just make out the outline of the boat, directly 
north of them, and approximately on the spot where 
they had their nearest trap. Above the horizontal 
line of the boat appeared a smaller blotch that must 
be a man, but what he was doing it was impossible 
to tell. Then without warning they heard his engine 
again. He was leaving! 

"Start her up,” said Elmer quickly. "You mind 
the gears, and I’ll steer. He hasn’t had time to pull 
that trap, so he must have just cut it loose. If I . . .” 

The rest of his remarks were smothered by the roar 
of their engine. Tom was operating it with both 
hands, the gas feed in his left hand, and the gear 
shift in his right. Low gear until the boat was under 
way, then second. In a few moments he could put 
her in high. 

"Do you see him?” he cried, looking up at the tense 
erect figure of his brother. 

"No,” said Elmer, and leaning forward with the 
steering lever he sent the boat slightly to starboard. 
A moment later he snatched the gaff and clawed 


52 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


down over the side, exclaiming: "That’s the man we 
want, though. I just turned over our new buoy, and 
it was cut loose. Keep her in high!” 

The Sen nett boat lurched forward, roaring loudly, 
and leaving a turbulent wake behind it. Elmer bent 
forward, his ears alert to catch the softer fainter 
sound of the enemy craft. It had vanished in the 
fog, with just enough of a head start to bother the 
pursuers. And yet the boys were full of confidence. 
They had a faster, more powerful boat, besides which 
the fog was lifting a bit from the sea, thus enabling 
them to see better. 

"I see him!” cried Elmer, at length. "Going for 
all he’s worth, too. That’s a sure sign he’s guilty!” 

"What kind of a boat?” demanded Tom, craning 
over the side. 

"Gray, a small gray one. He can handle it, though.” 

The gray boat was leading them in a zigzag course, 
darting around shoals, skirting ledges, and even skim¬ 
ming dangerously close to the rocky shore, perhaps 
hoping to wreck its pursuer, or at least frighten it 
off. Elmer was impressed, and Tom openly surprised. 

"He must be a native,” declared the younger 
brother. "No stranger would dare to take chances 
like that, especially in a fog. Can’t you walk up on 
him a little faster?” 

"We’re overhauling him,” was the answer. "You 
mind the engine. . . . What’s the matter with that 
engine, anyway? Tom!” 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 53 

The engine had lost its regular powerful sound. 
A horrible realization swept over Tom. 

"The gas is playing out!” he cried. "We should 
have filled up, yesterday, instead of getting just five 
gallons.” 

"Get the extra can, quick! We can’t stop now!” 

Up under the forward deck their father habitually 
kept an extra gallon of gasoline, as a reserve supply. 
Tom scrambled after it, frantically unscrewing the 
cap and pouring the precious liquid into the tank. 
Just in time! The engine had begun to wheeze, and 
now it took new life, roaring on its way with lusty 
vigor. 

"Where’s our man, though?” demanded Tom rue¬ 
fully. 

"Gone around the end of Apple Island. We’ll catch 
him now.” 

"We’ve got to do it before that gallon of gas plays 
out. How far will it take us?” 

"Three or four miles,” and Elmer stared resolutely 
ahead, watching for another sight of the gray boat. 
"Our engine dying down that way let him get ahead 
again. I see him! He’s going to keep on right around 
the island. That won’t get him anywhere.” 

Around the further end of the island roared the 
Sennett boat, closer now. In fact, the boys were 
suspiciously close to their man. What was he doing? 

"He’s landing!” exclaimed Tom. 

It scarcely seemed possible that any one would 


54 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


attempt a hurried landing on Apple Island, yet it 
was true. Swiftly tossing his anchor ashore, the 
stranger waited long enough to make sure that the 
wind was going to keep his boat off the rocks, and 
sprang into the water. Before the boys could come 
up he had scrambled out on dry land and was gone. 

'"Take it easy,” said Elmer. "Put her in neutral, 
and we’ll drift in. No need to get wet. We’re not 
in such a hurry as he was. He can’t get off this island 
without a boat.” 

The younger brother got quickly to his feet. When 
the boat was within twenty feet of the shore, he 
hurled out the anchor; then with the gaff in hand 
he lay flat at the prow of the boat, to reach down 
and stop her as she drifted up to the rocks. She came 
to a standstill, whereupon they sprang ashore and 
gave her a slight shove backward, to help the wind 
keep her off. Elmer paused, nodding toward the 
gray boat: 

"Her number is B-491. Remember that.” 

They climbed up over the slippery rockweed that 
lined the shore, and came to surer footing. The fog 
had lifted enough to enable them to see perhaps fifty 
yards ahead, but of their enemy there was no trace. 

"Well, how shall we do it?” said Elmer. 

"Scatter and hunt him down,” was the prompt 
answer. 

"Both of us go? No, that wouldn’t do. He might 
slip around and get back to his boat. One of us has 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 5 5 

got to stay here and watch, and the other one can go 
hunt him, and then sing out. It’s a small island, so 
he can’t be far.” 

Tom gave a snort of disgust: "You always ask my 
advice, and after I give it to you, out you come with 
some other scheme. All right, we’ll do it your way, 
only I’ll go hunt him. I’m not going to stay here 
and gawk.” 

In watchful silence Tom started up the slope. The 
ground was stony and irregular, with a scattering of 
firs on ahead. For a while the boy could see very 
well, but presently he came to higher land, and here 
the mist was still thick. The trees loomed up gray 
and vague, one behind another, and all of them offer¬ 
ing a place to hide. Tom threaded them carefully, 
his eyes shifting from side to side. By and by he came 
to an open space, and in the center of it was the lone 
apple tree that Jenkins the hermit had planted many 
years before. 

Just beyond the apple tree the boy caught sight 
of a dim shape that might be a man. It stood on the 
other side of the clearing, near the small tumbledown 
shack in which the hermit had once lived. Tom ad¬ 
vanced and the shape retreated. There could be no 
more doubt about it, the figure was a human being, 
and certainly the fellow they had been chasing. 
With a loud call for his brother to come, Tom dashed 
forward. The stranger ran toward the deserted 
shack, the boy behind him on rapid feet, so swift 


56 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


in pursuit that he overtook the man just behind the 
house and grappled with him. Down they went, 
tumbling and striking at each other, while Tom 
shouted at the top of his voice: 

"Elmer! Elmer! This way!” 

"Shut your mouth,” rasped the man, and struck 
him a savage blow in the face. 

"Come on, Elmer! Elmer! Elmer! Elmer!” 

All this shouting for Elmer seemed to alarm the 
stranger, for he stopped punching at the boy and 
concentrated on an attempt to get away. Jerking and 
panting, he tried to get to his feet, while Tom dog¬ 
gedly held on, using both arms and legs, like a rough- 
and-tumble wrestler. Unluckily the man was stronger 
and heavier, so that in spite of all the boy’s efforts he 
at last got to his feet. 

"Hold on there!” shouted Tom, and sprang up to 
continue the fight. 

For a brief while they traded punches, Tom sick 
and dizzy from the force of his enemy’s blows, but 
stubbornly refusing to quit. He landed a hard one 
under the other’s chin, sent his head jerking back, 
and had a fleeting glimpse of his face. The fellow 
was sunburned and smooth-shaven, with dark hair. 
That was all the boy had time to notice. A fist blow 
sent Tom staggering back; he tripped over a rock, 
and fell flat. Everything whirled before his eyes, and 
after that time was a sick blank until he heard Elmer 
calling: 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 


57 


"'Tom, which way? Where are you?” 

"Here by the shack,” grunted Tom, and got to 
his feet. He had fallen on a heap of clam shells and 
they had cut his hands; otherwise he was all right. 

"I couldn’t get here any sooner,” explained Elmer, 
dashing up. "Where did he go?” 

"Don’t know,” was the groggy answer. 

Elmer searched about for footprints, then he looked 
up in dismay. The popping of a motor boat told 
the story. 

"He’s slipped back and got into his boat,” he an¬ 
nounced. "Come on, maybe we can catch him yet.” 

Too late. By the time they got to the shore the gray 
boat was out of sight, apparently around the end 
of the island. 

"No use to chase him,” said Tom, his head clear¬ 
ing rapidly. "He’s got too much of a start, and we 
haven’t enough gas.” 

They got into their boat, dull and depressed at 
the outcome of the adventure. 

"Better go over to Grandpa’s and borrow some 
gas,” said Elmer. "We haven’t got enough to take 
us much farther. . . . Who was he, anyway, did you 
see?” 

"I didn’t get a good look at him. Not enough to 
tell, anyhow.” 

Elmer headed for Grandpa Sennett’s, and on the 
way he thought of something else. 

"What made you stop calling?” he demanded. "I 


58 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


might have got there in time to help, if you had 
kept on shouting.” 

"Is that so!” growled the younger brother, and felt 
of his jaw. "I guess you wouldn’t have done much 
shouting if you’d got the clip he gave me. He just 
about knocked me cold.” 

"Well, we know the number of his boat, anyway. 
Grandpa can probably tell us whose number that 
is.” 

Their grandfather came down to the shore to meec 
them. They borrowed two gallons of gasoline of 
him, and asked him if he knew whose motor boat 
carried the license number B-491. 

"B-491,” repeated the ancient mariner brightly. 
"Wal, wal, let me see, as the blind feller uster say. 
B-490 is one of the Hanna boys, and B-491 . . . 
kind of a little gray boat, was she?” 

"Yes!” 

"Why, that belongs to Sime Cheever, that keeps 
the herring weir.” 

"Sime Cheever?” 

"Yes, why? You boys is purty mysterious, ’pears 
to me.” 

Whereupon they told him the whole story, lobster 
traps cut adrift, their ambush, the chase through the 
fog, Tom’s fight on the island, and the enemy’s escape. 
Cap’n Len fairly choked with excitement and indig¬ 
nation, and when he had heard the last of it he burst 
out: 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 


59 


"By the great horn spoon, I never heerd nothin’ like 
that, in all my born days! It was Sime Cheever, eh?” 

"I’m not sure,” said Tom. "I couldn’t say.” 

"We’d better go to his place and try to make sure,” 
declared Elmer. "Come on, Tom, start the engine.” 

"Do ye want I should go with ye?” asked Grandpa 
Sennett. 

"No, thanks, Grandpa, we’ll be all right.” 

"Well, all right, but don’t ye take no back talk 
off’ n a feller like Sime Cheever. Don’t it jest natu¬ 
rally beat tar-water what some folks will stoop to? 
You let me know how it comes out, boys.” 

"Good-bye. We will.” 

The boys swung back into the cove, and off toward 
the narrow inlet where Sime Cheever lived. They 
chugged past the large stick inclosure in which he 
trapped herring, then steered for his fish-house, at 
the edge of the water. Cheever sold most of his 
herring to the sardine factory down the cove, but 
part of his catch he disposed of to the local lobster- 
men, to be used as bait. Elmer and Tom occasionally 
came here with their father; nevertheless, they were 
very little acquainted with the man. He was sharp- 
tongued, but beyond that they knew nothing about 
him. 

"There he is now,” said Elmer. "Somebody else 
is there, too. That isn’t Cheever’s boat.” 

"It’s Ab York’s.” 

They glided up to the fish-house with a distinct 


60 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


feeling of assurance. Ab York was one of their 
father’s best friends, and he was likewise their friend. 
Both Tom and Elmer felt able to take their own 
part against Cheever, but it was going to help to 
have Ab York here. The two men stood in the door 
of the fish-house, interrupted in the process of meas¬ 
uring out a bushel of bait. York smiled and waved 
at the boys; Cheever looked at them in silence, and 
without embarrassment. 

Tom made the boat fast, and followed his brother 
up the ladder to the little platform in front of the 
fish-house. He looked straight at Cheever: 

"Didn’t we run across you on Apple Island a while 
ago?” 

"Apple Island,” said Cheever. "What are you 
talkin’ about?” 

"Somebody cut loose a trap of ours,” put in Elmer, 
"and we chased him ashore on Apple Island. It was 
your boat, because we got the number, B-491.” 

"Look here,” growled Cheever, "if you’re lookin’ 
for trouble — ” 

"Wait a minute,” said Ab York. "Let’s get the 
straight of this. Tom, are you and Elmer makin’ 
out that Sime here’s been cuttin’ your traps loose?” 

"That’s the way it looks, yes.” 

"Did ye see him?” 

"Not close enough to recognize him, but we got 
the number of the boat. He and I had a set-to, just 
about an hour ago.” 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 


61 


"Why, he’s crazy,” grumbled Cheever. 

"Looks that way,” admitted Ab York. 

"Why does it?” demanded Tom hotly. "Elmer 
took the number of the boat. Let’s see his boat, and 
see if that isn’t the number.” 

"My boat isn’t here,” scowled the keeper of the 
herring weir. 

York looked at him in surprise. In Pelly’s Cove 
a boat was a daily necessity, and Sime Cheever had 
the name of being too mean ever to loan his boat to 
anybody. 

"Somebody stole it last night,” Cheever explained. 
"Probably you two fellers, thinkin’ to try to get me 
into trouble. You didn’t see me on Apple Island, 
and you didn’t see anybody else, either.” 

"I saw somebody,” declared Tom, "and I had a 
fight with him. He was sunburned and smooth- 
shaven, and he had dark hair. That fits you, I 
guess.” 

"Fits me, and fits forty ’leven other fellers around 
this cove,” snorted Cheever. "And it was a hour ago, 
was it?” 

"Yes, an hour or maybe only three quarters of an 
hour.” 

Ab York shook his head: "Boys, I’m afraid you’re 
accusin’ the wrong man. I been here for better’n 
two hours, and Sime’s been here all that time. We 
been talkin’ about a old dory he wants to buy of me. 
So Sime couldn’t have been out cuttin’ your warps 


62 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


this mornin’. Maybe it was the feller that stole his 
boat, but it wa’n’t Sime. Couldn’t have been.” 

The boys gaped in confusion. Ab York’s word 
they knew they could rely upon, and if he said 
Cheever had been home for the past two hours, then 
it was certain that the weir-keeper was not the man 
they had chased ashore on Apple Island. There was 
something rather suspicious about the way Cheever 
was acting; nevertheless, he had a clear alibi, and 
there was nothing more to do about it. They turned 
and climbed down the ladder to their boat, ill at 
ease under Sime Cheever’s vindictive eyes. 

"'Well, I guess I better be going, too,” said York, and 
picked up his lobster bait. 'Til pay ye for this next 
week, Sime.” 

Elmer and Tom cut across the cove, too discouraged 
to talk. Then they became aware that York was try¬ 
ing to catch up with them. They put their boat in 
second gear, and let him come up. 

"Hey, boys,” he called to them, "I ain’t sidin’ with 
a feller like Sime Cheever, but I jest didn’t want 
ye to git into trouble with him. He’s a tough customer 
when he’s riled. I know . I went porgyin’ with him 
one year.” 

"Do you think somebody really stole his boat?” 
asked Elmer. 

"I dunno. Maybe, maybe not. I’ll kind o’ make 
it a point to try and find out, though.” 

"Let us know, if you do.” 


A RACE THROUGH THE FOG 


6 3 


"I shore will,” said York heartily. "If anybody’s 
cutting lobster traps loose around this cove here we 
want to know it. Don’t you fret, the feller he’ll git 
ketched, sooner or later.” 













Chapter Five 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


T he boys went home, intending to lose no time 
in telling their father all that had happened. 
Yet when they got there they hesitated. Henry Sen- 
nett was busily at work in the kitchen, his spirits so 
high that his sons did not have the heart to plunge 
straight into the troubled business of the cut buoys, 
Apple Island, and Sime Cheever. 

"Hello,” he said to them, as they came in. "Look 
at this. It’s a new idea, and I think it will fish, too.” 

They spoke to their mother and silently sat down 
to watch him. The father was netting heads for lob¬ 
ster traps. Provided with a ball of stout green cord 
and a big wooden needle which he had made him¬ 
self, he stood close to the kitchen wall, one end of 
the twine tied to a hook and the rest of it in process 
of being woven into the corded nets which, with a 
wire ring in the center, fit into lobster traps and 
permit the animals to enter. He used the needle as a 


64 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


65 


shuttle, working it in and out by hand, tying each 
knot securely, and going on to the next. The boys 
could see that he was elated over something, and 
presently he explained: 

"My idea is that this’ll fish better than an ordinary 
trap, and I’ll tell ye why. An ordinary trap has an 
entrance in each end; the lobster maybe crawls in, 
but lots of times he manages to crawl out again. 
Nothin’ much to stop him, except to get around up 
high enough to climb through the wire hole. Now, 
then, d’ye know how this new scheme works?” 

"No,” said Elmer, with an attempt at enthusiasm. 

"Works like this. Instead of knittin’ two nets for 
each trap I’m knittin’ three. Two of ’em open into 
the same end of the trap, and that end is partitioned 
off from the other. This first end I call the kitchen.” 

"The kitchen!” exclaimed Mrs. Sennett, looking 
up from her stove. 

"Why, yes, because the bait is in that end of the 
trap. The lobster crawls into the kitchen, eats, then 
when he wants to go out he finds this third net leadin’ 
up and into the other end of the trap. That other 
end I call the parlor, because he waits there for us 
to come and get him. See the point? In order to 
escape then he’d have to crawl back out of two holes 
instead of one, and just to keep him in the parlor 
where he belongs I’m goin’ to use another little in¬ 
vention of mine. That’s a wire door that lays down 
over the door to the parlor, so he can shove it up 


66 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


and crawl in, but if he tries to get out it’ll hold him 
back. I’ll bet we get some lobsters with traps like 
that! . . . Well, how come you boys are home so 
soon? I thought you were goin’ to haul the traps.” 

Then they told him, Elmer attempting to make an 
orderly coherent story of it, Tom breaking in with 
explosive comments. As the boys talked, the mother 
looked more and more dismayed, but Henry Sennett 
scarcely gave a sign of what he was thinking. He 
paused in his weaving, looked stern for an instant, 
and quietly went on with his work, listening, pushing 
his needle in and out, knotting the twine into a net. 

"You better have some breakfast,” said Mrs. Sen¬ 
nett, when the tale was over. 

She got it on to the table, and the boys sat down. 
There was fish hash, coffee, and pie, but their minds 
were not on food, and when they had taken the edge 
off their hunger, Tom said: 

"I figure Cheever had something to do with it, in 
spite of that alibi of his. Why should he bother 
our traps, though?” 

"That’s what I can’t figure out,” added Elmer. 
"We never had any trouble with him before, did 
we?” 

"Maybe we did,” said the father slowly. 

"When?” asked the boys in surprise. 

"Years ago. Accordin’ to law you can’t put a 
lobster trap within three hundred feet of the mouth 
of a weir, or the outer leaders of a weir, either. It 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


67 


might interfere with the herrin’ goin’ into the weir. 
Cheever he claimed one time that my traps was closer 
than three hundred feet, and wanted to have me 
arrested. We measured it before a witness, and I 
wasn’t near that close. That kind o’ made him mad, 
I caPlate.” 

"But if Ab York says that Cheever was home,” 
said Mrs. Sennett, "how can you blame him for cut¬ 
ting your traps loose?” 

"Just it,” nodded the father, and put aside his 
netting. "The important thing is to find out if 
Cheever’s to blame, or isn’t he to blame. That’s 
what I’m goin’ to try to do, right now.” 

"Don’t get in any trouble,” urged Mrs. Sennett. 

"We’re already in trouble,” was the answer. "This 
has prob’ly happened because I’ve set my face agin a 
starvation price for lobsters, so it’s either back down 
or fight back. And I won’t back down. It wouldn’t 
be sense. Boys, as soon as you finish eatin’ you go 
haul your traps, while I tend to this other matter.” 

With this he took his hat and went out, and when 
their breakfast was finished Elmer and Tom did like¬ 
wise. They went to Whipple’s pier for gasoline, found 
the lobster buyer as smooth and friendly as ever, 
noticed that the smack had gone, and went off to 
their traps. It took four good hours to haul them, 
so that by the time they had sold their catch to 
Whipple and were heading back toward home, it 
was well past noon. 


68 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"There’s Bart’s father!” said Elmer, all at once. 

Randall was standing near the Sennett fish-house, 
apparently surprised in the act of prowling about 
it. Nevertheless, he did not go away, but waited for 
them to come ashore in the skiff. The man was dis¬ 
tinctly apologetic, as he explained: 

"Just thought I’d come over and see if your dad 
had some nets I could patch up an’ use for herrin’. 
Mine’s all holes.” 

"No, he hasn’t got any herring nets,” said Elmer. 

"Um,” said Randall, and absently rubbed his chin. 
"Well, I got to go over to Pemaquid Harbor and try 
to borry me some, I guess. . . . Uh, maybe Bart 
could stay with you till this evening, hey?” 

"Sure!” exclaimed Tom, somewhat taken aback. 
"Where is he?” 

"Back there in the blueb’ry patch,” replied the 
father, and pointed. 

The boys set off to find him, wondering at Ran¬ 
dall’s change of heart. For weeks he had insisted that 
Bart stay away from the Sennetts; now he had actu¬ 
ally suggested that his son spend the afternoon with 
them. 

"Maybe he thinks Bart is lonesome for somebody 
his own age,” said Tom. 

"Or maybe he isn’t afraid of the Ring any more,” 
suggested Elmer. 

Presently, however, they agreed upon another ex¬ 
planation. They came within sight of Bart Randall, 


FIFTEEN “SHORTS” 


69 

and though the blueberry season was about past, 
and the berries no longer prime, the boy was picking 
and eating them with obvious gusto. 

"He’s hungry!” whispered Elmer, in astonishment. 
"His father wants us to take him home to dinner.” 

"And that’s what we’ll do,” said Tom, "even if 
we have to drag him there! Hey, Bart!” 

Bart straightened up, waving briefly. His manner 
was as subdued as before, and to Tom Sennett’s imagi¬ 
native eye he looked even paler and thinner than 
when they had last seen him. 

"How are the blueberries?” asked Elmer, with a 
smile. 

"All right,” and Bart resumed the munching which 
the Sennett boys had interrupted. 

"Why don’t you come home to dinner with us?” 
said Tom. 

A pleased look came over Bart’s face, then he turned 
gloomy again. 

"No, I can’t,” he muttered. 

"Your father said you could,” Elmer hastened to 
say. 

"He did?” 

"Yes, we just met him. He said he was going over 
to Pemaquid Harbor, and if you wanted to you 
could spend the afternoon with us. We’d better get 
going, too. Mom will have dinner ready by the 
time we get there.” 

They struck across the blueberry pasture in the 


70 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


general direction of the Sennett cottage. Bart was 
in noticeably better spirits. He went along briskly, 
and even chattered, which was something new for 
him. 

"So my dad said it would be all right!” he said. 
"That’s good. I can stay till he comes back, anyway. 
Probably he’ll come to your house, or else I’ll go home 
by myself. He’s got the boat with him, but I could 
get across the cove some way. Maybe things will be 
different now, maybe they’ll improve a little.” 

"What do you mean by improving a little?” asked 
Elmer. 

Bart hesitated. He seemed to feel that he had 
ventured upon a delicate subject. 

"Why not tell us?” demanded Tom Sennett 
frankly. "You’ve already told us a little, about your 
dad being afraid of that Whipple-McLain crowd. 
You don’t think we’d ever tell, do you?” 

"No, I know you wouldn’t,” answered Bart. He 
walked on for a moment in silence, then he stopped 
short in the path, and when they faced him he said 
abruptly: "All right, I will tell ye. I got to tell 
somebody. I can’t go on this way.” 

"What is it?” encouraged Elmer. 

"Oh, it’s that Lobster Ring again,” said Bart, with 
a troubled face. "I think they’re just a bunch of 
crooks, and nothin’ else.” 

"Yes? What makes you think so?” 

"The way they act. McLain keeps cornin’ to our 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


71 


place and talkin’ to my dad about something. I can’t 
ever hear what it is, because they go off by them¬ 
selves, but it’s something McLain is tryin’ to make 
my dad do. Listen, do you remember that bag of 
short lobsters?” 

"Yes, sure.” 

"Maybe you wondered how I happened to be 
around there that day,” he continued, "and I’m 
goin’ to tell ye. I was watchin’ ’em.” 

"Watching ’em!” said Elmer. "What for?” 

"To see if anybody came for ’em. Cap’n McLain 
left those lobsters there, I know very well he did. 
He put ’em there for my dad. We live just around 
the shore from there, you know. I put two and 
two together, an’ figured it out this way. McLain 
knows we haven’t got any money an’ we’d like to 
have some lobsters to eat, so he brings us those, 
hopin’ that way my dad will be willing to do what 
he wants him to.” 

"Such as what?” 

"Keep away from your father, I s’ pose,” said Bart. 
"And maybe talk against that petition. But I know 
one thing, my dad won’t go that far. He’s no crook; 
he may stay away from you folks, just to keep out of 
trouble, but he wouldn’t say a word against the 
petition. We didn’t eat those short lobsters, either. 
Nobody ate ’em.” 

"What became of them?” 

"Dad threw ’em up on the bank and left ’em there, 


72 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


just to show McLain he wasn’t goin’ to be bribed.” 

Elmer started on again, saying to Bart over his 
shoulder: 

''Look here, Bart, we’ll make you a proposition. 
There’s some crooked business going on around this 
cove, and your father seems to be tangled up in it 
just the way we are, only in a different way. Maybe 
the three of us could help straighten it out, what 
do you say?” 

"I don’t know what you mean.” 

"I mean for the three of us to kind o’ make an 
agreement to help each other. If Tom or I run 
across any information that you might like to have, 
we’ll tell you; and if you stumble over anything sus¬ 
picious, you tell us. That way we can maybe get 
somewhere. Is it a bargain?” 

Bart was slow to answer: "I’ll do it if you don’t 
say anything to anybody that would hurt my 
dad. . . .” 

"We won’t,” said Tom impulsively. "That isn’t 
our idea at all. What we want to do is to protect our¬ 
selves against this Ring.” 

"Why!” said Bart, in a tone of surprise, "what 
are they doing to you folks?” 

"Plenty,” replied Elmer, and briefly told him about 
the cut warps and the chase at Apple Island. 

"And you think Cheever had something to do 
with it!” cried Bart, with a quickening face. "Well, 
maybe I can give you a clue right now. I saw Sime 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


73 


Cheever sneakin’ through the woods this forenoon, 
about ten o’clock.” 

"Which way?” 

"Toward the store, up above Whipple’s pier.” 

"Alone?” 

"Yes. Not much of a clue, but I thought I’d tell 
you.” 

"It might turn out to be something,” declared 
Elmer, and nodded ahead. "Well, here we are home. 
Are you hungry, Bart?” 

Bart gave a good account of himself at the dinner 
table, and afterward he helped the boys hoe garden. 
Henry Sennett was still away, so that by way of eas¬ 
ing their mother’s mind Elmer and Tom went off to 
the shore to look for him, taking Bart with them. 
They met their father coming along the beach from 
the direction of Whipple’s pier, and when he saw 
Bart he said to him: 

"Your pa is up to the store. I told him I’d send 
you there.” 

"All right,” said Bart, and went on by himself, 
while the Sennetts turned toward home. 

"How did it happen that Randall talked to you?” 
Tom asked his father. "I thought he was afraid to.” 

"Well, I think he is. But there was no one around 
when I first met him. He said a queer thing to me.” 

"What was it?” 

"He said for me to watch out.” 

"That all?” 


74 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Yes.” 

"Trying to warn you, I s’pose,” said Elmer. "By 
the way, Bart told us something.” 

"He did?” 

"Yes, he said he saw Cheever sneaking through the 
woods this morning, in the direction of the store.” 

Henry Sennett gave his head a brief jerk: "I know. 
He went over to the old clam factory to get his boat. 
It was tied up there. I have an idea somebody tele¬ 
phoned him where he could find it.” 

"Who did that?” Tom wanted to know. 

"Fred Whipple, prob’ly. I got it out of the store¬ 
keeper that Fred came up to use the telephone this 
mornin’, an 5 that’s something he hardly ever does. 
The storekeeper was out back, so he didn’t hear who 
it was he telephoned to, but likely as not it was 
Cheever. I guess he was telephonin’ for some of that 
gang that went off on the smack this mornin’. Ac¬ 
cordin’ to the way things look, it was somebody from 
the smack that’s been a-cuttin’ our traps loose.” 

"And stole Cheever’s boat, to do it in?” asked 
Elmer. 

"Maybe. I’ll find out next week, when the smack 
comes in agin.” 

"Ugh, that’s a long time to wait,” objected Tom. 

Yet as a matter of fact that time went quickly. 
There was so much to do. The father kept going 
with his petition, and as good luck would have it he 
found a dozen new signers, chiefly lobstermen who 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


75 


had been incensed by the warp-cutting episode in 
their midst. Elmer and Tom tended the traps, their 
suspicions of the smack’s crew strengthened by the 
discovery that so long as the smack stayed away from 
the cove no more of their traps were cut adrift. 

Late Tuesday night the smack returned, and early 
Wednesday morning Henry Sennett and his sons 
went down to the wharf where the vessel was tied 
up. Captain McLain was on deck, smoking a stubby 
pipe, and showing by his manner that he understood 
the purpose of their call. 

"Want to see me?” he inquired contemptuously. 

"Either you,” said Henry Sennett, "or the fellow 
that’s with you.” 

"Only one man with me,” was the answer. "He’s 
down below, tinkerin’ with the engine. Well, who 
do ye want, him or me?” 

"Tom,” said the father, "could it have been Cap’n 
McLain you had that fight with, on Apple Island?” 

"No, I’m positive it wasn’t.” 

"We want to see the man that’s below,” said Henry 
Sennett firmly. 

The captain gave a short laugh, and walked to an 
open hatch. "Pete,” he bellowed, "come up, you 
got callers.” 

A pause, then a head appeared, followed by the 
figure of a man. He was young, stocky, with a 
smooth-shaven face which despite its coating of oil 
and dirt was certainly very much sunburned. In a 


76 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


general way he fitted in with Tom’s memory of the 
man on Apple Island, and in a few low words the 
boy said as much to his father. 

"What’s your name?” Henry Sennett demanded of 
the stranger. 

"Don’t know as it’s any of your business,” was 
the reply. 

Cap’n McLain laughed, but Sennett paid no at¬ 
tention to him. He was peering at the stranger, more 
and more convinced that he knew him. 

"I recognize you now!” he cried suddenly. "Pete 
Osier, that’s who you are. You’re a nephew to Sime 
Cheever. Went away from here about ten years ago, 
because you got in trouble over stealin’ alewives out 
of a smokehouse.” 

Osier flushed a little. Cap’n McLain laughed again, 
as sure of himself as a dog in his own yard. 

"Quite a detective,” he observed. "What else have 
you found out, Sennett?” 

"Not much. Somebody’s been cuttin’ my traps, 
though, and I cal’late it’s this fellow here. Cheever 
didn’t have his boat stolen, he let this nephew of his 
take it, so he could go cut my traps loose.” 

"Try and prove it,” said McLain. "You can’t 
identify him, and I can swear he’s been on the smack 
all the time we’re in the cove. Where are your wit¬ 
nesses?” 

Sennett was quiet. He realized that Tom had got 
only a very general description of the man on Apple 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


77 


Island, and that Elmer had been even less fortunate. 
It was fairly certain that Osier was the culprit, but 
proving it was another thing. 

"You don’t admit it, then?” the father said to 
Osier. 

"I don’t admit anything,” answered Pete Osier, 
and turned and went back to his work, saying in a 
muttered undertone: "Fight it out with the Cap.” 

"There won’t be much fightin’,” growled McLain, 
"but there’ll be some tellin’, Sennett. Looky here 
now, are you goin’ to stop this petition busi- 

"No, I’m not. Not until the Ring gives us decent 
prices again.” 

"Oh ho, the Ring, eh? We call it a dealers’ asso¬ 
ciation.” 

"And I call it a Ring,” said Henry Sennett, "or 
a gang of rascals, whichever name you like best. I’m 
goin’ to get as many names as I can, then I’ll publish 
my petition in the newspapers and see what public 
opinion will do about this thing.” 

"You publish anything like that,” threatened the 
captain, "and we’ll blacklist every mother’s son of 
ye. Not a single one of you will ever be able to sell 
another lobster in this cove, mark my word. Just 
to queer your game, I’ll spread the word around, 
too. You won’t get any more signatures, and you’ll 
have trouble keepin’ the names that’s already on 
there. We don’t aim to take any foolishness from 


78 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


you. You’ll take our price for lobsters, and you’ll 
keep still about it, that’s all.” 

"Take your price, and keep still about it?” repeated 
Henry Sennett, in a slow cold voice. "I may refuse 
to do both of those things.” 

And that very day he did refuse. Smarting with 
indignation, the boys and their father went off to 
haul their traps. Toward noon they returned to 
the buyer’s pier. 

"What’s the price to-day?” asked the father. 

"Seventeen cents,” said Whipple evenly. 

"What! It was nineteen yesterday.” 

"Seventeen to-day. Want to sell?” 

"No, I’d rather keep ’em in my car and eat ’em, 
at that price.” 

Their lobster car was a wooden crate, similar to 
the container in which Fred Whipple stored his lob¬ 
sters, only much smaller. Every lobsterman had one, 
as a means of temporary storage when for this or 
that reason he did not choose to sell his daily catch. 
The car belonging to Henry Sennett was anchored 
halfway between the mooring for his motor boat 
and the shore, and, having refused to accept seven¬ 
teen cents a pound, he at one went to the car, put in 
the lobsters, and locked it. 

"How many pounds will our car hold?” asked 
Elmer, wondering what the outcome of this was 
going to be. 

"About five hundred.” 


FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


79 


They went home, and on the next day again hauled 
their traps. Once more they inquired the price. It 
was still seventeen cents a pound, whereupon they 
took their day’s catch off toward their car, the father 
trying to be optimistic. 

"The price will go up, sooner or later,” he said. 

Tom nodded toward the shore: "Look at the way 
those crows are flying back and forth. Something 
must be scaring them.” 

The father laughed silently. 

"That used to be a danger sign to Jard Kittredge, 
in the days when he used to take short lobsters home. 
He always used to say that when the crows were 
flyin’ around like that he knew better than to bring 
shorts ashore, because there was sure to be a fish war¬ 
den waitin’ for him the minute he struck the woods.” 

The boat slowed down. Their car was directly 
ahead. They came up to it, unlocked it, and were 
putting in their lobsters when Elmer spoke up: 

"Well, Jard Kittredge had it figured out about 
right! There’s somebody on shore, coming out of 
the woods. And it’s Ikey Jones, isn’t it?” 

Henry Sennett took a brief look: "Yes, that’s who 
it is. Well, I don’t cal’late he’s after us.” 

But he was. The fish warden advanced to the 
beach and shouted at them: 

"Come on in here, Henry.” 

Sennett paused, a frown gathering on his face. 
Then without a word he started the engine and circled 


80 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


around toward the shore. Coming up as close as he 
could get with the motor boat, he said to the warden: 

"What you want?” 

"I’ve got to search your boat for short lobsters,” 
said the warden. 

"You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, Ikey.” 

"I hope so,” said the fish warden, "but I got to do 
it. I’ve had another complaint about ye.” 

In response to a sign from his father Tom took 
the punt and rowed ashore. The warden got in with 
him. Back to the motor boat they went, Henry Sen- 
nett’s voice full of reproach: 

"You ought to know better’n this, Ikey. I wouldn’t 
sell my lobsters for seventeen cents, and I’m puttin’ 
’em in my car. Prob’Iy Whipple complained on me 
just hopin’ I’d have some shorts, but you can see for 
yourself I haven’t got any.” 

Jones looked about the bottom of the motor boat. 
There were half a dozen lobsters there, all of them 
clearly of legal length. 

"You caught more than that to-day,” he remarked. 
"Didn’t ye?” 

"Sure. We just put the others in the car. Want 
to look at ’em?” 

"Guess I’d better. I got to do my duty, Henry.” 

"Oh, that’s all right,” answered Sennett, and took 
him out to the car. He unlocked it, handed him a 
dip net, and invited him to examine the lobsters 
stored in the crate. 



The warden succeeded in dipping up a total of fifteen shorts. 












FIFTEEN "SHORTS” 


83 


The warden took him at his word. Again and 
again he dipped into the car, dumping the lobsters 
into the bottom of the motor boat. 

"There’s a short,” he said presently. 

The Sennetts looked at the lobster with incredulous 
eyes. And a few minutes later they were still fur¬ 
ther astonished. For in addition to the lobsters they 
knew were in the storage crate the warden succeeded 
in dipping up a total of fifteen shorts. 

"I guess I’ll have to arrest ye,” he observed. 


Chapter Six 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


TT was the morning of the trial, and the Sennetts 
were getting ready. The mother went downstairs 
to get breakfast. Shortly afterward her husband ap¬ 
peared, stiffly attired in his best clothes. Elmer and 
Tom came behind him, likewise equipped with "dress” 
shoes and unaccustomed white collars. Mrs. Sennett 
poured their coffee, a look of anxiety on her face. 

"Don’t worry,” said the father. 

"I can’t seem to help it,” she replied. "Do you 
think you’ll be acquitted, Henry?” 

"Yes, I do. Because it’s nothin’ but what the news¬ 
papers call a frame-up, and I figger that won’t stand 
before a jury. We’ll tell the truth expectin’ to be be¬ 
lieved, so you just wait in peace, till we come back.” 

She said no more. They finished breakfast and set 
out, the boys waving encouragement to their mother. 
The sky was overcast, and at the shore they found 
their punt damp from a drizzle of rain that had come 


84 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 8 5 

down during the night. Silently they rowed out 
to the motor boat, got in, and struck up the cove to 
Grandpa Sennett’s landing. He was to go with. them. 

"I see somebody waitin’ for us,” said Elmer, "but 
it isn’t Grandpa, it’s Bart Randall.” 

Tom looked at his father, and his father looked 
back, disapproval in his eyes. The sight of Bart re¬ 
called to both of them the discussion they had had, 
just after the fish warden had found short lobsters 
in the Sennett car. The boys had at once told their 
father everything that could possibly help to explain 
this newest trick on the part of their enemies; and 
among other things they reported that the elder Ran¬ 
dall had been idling about their fish-house, and also 
that some one had hidden a bag of short lobsters 
among the rocks, near his home. 

"I’m afraid that throws suspicion on Randall,” 
Henry Sennett had commented. 

"Oh, but I don’t think he had anything to do 
with this” Tom objected. "He warned you to watch 
out, didn’t he, Dad?” 

"Yes, but that might have been because he got 
frightened, or because his conscience bothered him. 
Our car is just off our fish-house, so he might have 
been sent there to get the lay of the land. The shorts 
that McLain brought him probably weren’t to eat, 
but to 'plant’ in our car. You and Elmer will have 
to testify to all this in court; it may help to clear 


8 6 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Elmer was bothered. "But we promised Bart not 
to say anything that would hurt his father,” he pro¬ 
tested. 

Thus the Sennetts had talked at the time that the 
fish warden had found shorts in their lobster car. 
The father had assumed a rather hostile attitude 
toward Bart Randall at that time, and he had not 
changed since then. Now, on the eve of his trial, 
Henry Sennett sat gazing at the boy with disapprov¬ 
ing eyes. The boat slipped on past Grandpa’s old 
schooner and stopped alongside the rickety wharf. 
Bart came quickly up, a crocus bag in his hand. 

"Listen, Mr. Sennett,” he began in an earnest tone. 
"I know you folks are goin’ to Wiscasset to the trial, 
and I know you maybe suspicion my dad of havin’ 
something to do with this. Well, he didn’t. I give 
you my word he didn’t.” 

"How do you know he didn’t?” asked Henry Sen¬ 
nett. 

"I know from the way he acted, when we heard 
you’d been arrested. And here’s something else.” 

With this the boy opened the crocus bag and 
dumped out a heap of short lobsters. They were 
dead. 

"Just what is that supposed to prove?” said Sen¬ 
nett. 

"Maybe those are the lobsters we found in the 
rocks,” broke in Tom. 

"Yes,” said Bart, "they are. My dad threw them up 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 87 

on the bank. He wouldn’t have anything to do with 
them. Doesn’t that show he wouldn’t do what 
McLain wanted him to, Mr. Sennett?” 

"Well, yes, this one particular time, anyway. Bart, 
this is kind of a mixed-up affair, but I guess we hadn’t 
better say anything in court about your father, after 
all. The boys here promised you they wouldn’t do 
anything to hurt him, and if we can’t git free of 
this short-lobster charge without accusin’ other folks 
I figger we’re in mighty bad shape.” 

"Thank ye, Mr. Sennett,” answered Bart grate¬ 
fully, and catching sight of the old grandfather 
stumping down the path toward the wharf he added 
quickly: "I got to go. I hope it’ll come out all right.” 

He hurried off along the shore, and the boys sprang 
out of the boat to help their grandfather get aboard. 

"Lord love ye,” wheezed the old captain, "I used 
to jump aboard of a boat like I had a spring in my 
tail . . . but I guess that was quite a spell back. 
Give me your hand there, Tommie.” 

They got him safely in, and once he had settled 
himself in a comfortable corner Elmer started the 
engine. Their course lay across the cove, the best 
way to Wiscasset being around through Boothbay 
Harbor and Townsend Gut, and then up the Sheep- 
scot River. Tom kept glancing at the lobster buoys 
that bobbed up and down on either side of their 
boat, noticing, with sick eyes, that none of his 
father’s were about. According to law a lobsterman 


88 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


charged with having shorts in his possession must 
promptly take his traps from the water, pending the 
settlement of the dispute by the court. 

"Everybody else has traps out, except Dad,” he 
said heavily. 

"His will soon be fishin’ agin,” declared Cap’n Len. 
"That feller Tucker’s a smart lawyer, he’ll straighten 
out this mess. You couldn’t ha’ hired a better one, 
Henry, there’s no rubbin’ that out.” 

The boys brightened up a little, but their father 
continued silent and somewhat moody. It was a 
disagreeable day, raw, uncertain, and heavy with 
signs of autumn. As they pushed steadily up the 
Sheepscot River, they saw that the chokecherry 
bushes had begun to turn, and that the cropped fields 
were growing dull. There were no more summer 
flowers to be seen. 

Elmer called his brother’s attention to a boat ahead 
of them. From this distance they could make out 
two men in it, one sitting down, and one standing 
at the steering lever. This last was Ikey Jones, the 
warden. He was on his way to the trial. Jones was 
a decent fellow, and though his duty often called 
upon him to do unpleasant things, he was always as 
considerate as possible. Upon his discovery of short 
lobsters in Henry Sennett’s car he had not taken his 
"prisoner” to jail, but had accepted his word that 
he would appear for trial when the case was called. 
And now, on the day of the trial, he had started for 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


89 


Wiscasset without even reminding the accused man 
that this was the day. 

"Who’s that riding with the fish warden?” asked 
Tom. 

"Fred Whipple,” said his father briefly. 

"Do you s’pose he’ll be a witness?” 

"No. What would he say?” 

"I cal’late Whipple’s said enough,” observed Cap’n 
Len. "He put the fish warden on to ye, and now he’s 
just cornin’ along to see what they’ll do about it.” 

"The warden ought to tell in court who it was 
that put him after us,” said Elmer. "Do you think 
he will, Father?” 

"No. Fish wardens don’t generally tell such 
things. They’re afraid that if they did nobody would 
ever give ’em a tip, on account of people takin’ re¬ 
venge on ’em.” 

The fish warden’s boat kept ahead, and by the time 
the Sennetts drew up to the dock at Wiscasset, the 
lobster buyer and Jones had tied up and were gone. 

"Where do we meet Mr. Tucker, the lawyer?” 
asked Tom. 

"At the courthouse,” said the father. 

They made the boat fast, got out and stretched 
their legs, and started for the courthouse. It was 
a brick building not far from the dock, with a swarm 
of people in front of the door, talking and reading 
various legal notices. Mr. Tucker hailed them, shook 
hands all around, and escorted them into the build- 


90 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


ing. He was a brisk confident man, and under his 
guidance they soon found themselves inside a large 
crowded room where a trial was already in progress. 

"Take seats,” he whispered. "Our case is next.” 

The boys squeezed in after their father and Grand¬ 
pa Sennett, craning and listening. Little by little they 
learned what was going on. A hotel keeper from 
South Bristol was on trial, accused of buying short 
lobsters from various fishermen, and then serving 
them to his guests. The lawyer for the defendant 
claimed that no one would dare serve a broiled short 
lobster in a dining room, because any guest familiar 
with lobsters could easily see that it was of illegal 
length. To which the prosecution retorted that the 
lobsters in question were used in stews and salads. 
The meat was taken out of them in the kitchen, and 
the telltale shells discarded. There was evidence to 
show that most of these shells were burned, but that 
on this particular occasion a careless waiter had 
thrown some of them outside, where a fish warden 
had found them. 

"Grandpa,” whispered Tom. "Do you think he’s 
guilty?” 

"He’ll be convicted, if that’s what you mean,” 
said the old man. 

And thus it turned out. The case was concluded, 
the jury came in with their verdict. Guilty as 
charged. 

There was a little stir, a murmur of voices, people 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


91 


going out, others coming in. Then presently the clerk 
pounded for order and called out the name of Henry 
Sennett. The boys were startled, and more than a 
little humiliated, for they could not escape the feel¬ 
ing that there was something shameful in all this, 
even though their father was innocent. Mr. Tucker 
signaled to them to rise. They followed him forward 
through a swinging gate, Henry Sennett to sit at a 
long shiny table with his lawyer, Cap’n Len and Elmer 
and Tom to occupy seats just behind them. 

The case began leisurely, and with the usual pre¬ 
liminaries. The jury looked weary, the judge shifted 
in his chair, the prosecuting attorney explained the 
charge and called Isaac Jones, fish warden, to the 
witness stand. In response to the prosecutor’s invi¬ 
tation to tell his story in his own words the warden 
said: 

C T was told by a certain party that the defendant 
was keeping short lobsters, so on the afternoon of 
the arrest I watched for him to come to his car. He 
came along, and I told him to let me search his boat. 
I searched the boat and didn’t find anything wrong, 
but when I bailed out his car I found fifteen short 
lobsters.” 

A ripple of no more than mild interest passed about 
the courtroom. It was an old story. 

"Fifteen short lobsters,” nodded the prosecutor. 
"And did you measure them, to make sure they were 
illegally short?” 


92 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I did, yes, sir.” 

"That’s all. . . . Mr. Sennett, please. Take the 
stand.” 

The boys watched closely. Their father was sworn. 
He gave his name, residence, and occupation. The 
prosecuting attorney questioned him about the short 
lobsters, and he freely admitted that they had been 
found in his car, and that they were short. 

"That’s all,” said the prosecutor, and with a satis¬ 
fied nod he turned the witness over to the defense 
lawyer. 

Mr. Tucker began by asking the witness to describe 
his lobster car. He brought out the fact that it was 
kept locked, then he asked: 

"On the day that the warden found these fifteen 
lobsters in your car, Mr. Sennett, was the car in the 
same condition as it had previously been?” 

"No, sir, a plank had been pried loose, and after¬ 
ward nailed back in place.” 

"Could the short lobsters have been put into the 
car through this hole?” 

"I object!” cried the prosecutor. 

"Just what are you trying to show?” the judge asked 
the defense lawyer. 

"I am trying to show, Your Honor, that the lob¬ 
sters were placed in the car by some one other than 
the defendant.” 

"Very well, proceed.” 

"Now, then, Mr. Sennett,” continued the defense 



"Avast there, you!” 
















































































GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


95 


lawyer, "have you recently been on bad terms with 
the Lobster Dealers’ Association in Portland?” 

"I object to that!” exclaimed the prosecutor, 
springing to his feet. "Your Honor, please!” 

"Objection sustained,” said the judge, in a mo¬ 
notonous tone. 

The defense lawyer had found himself blocked, and 
accordingly he tried another tack. Dismissing the 
witness, he called Grandpa Sennett to the stand, ask¬ 
ing him what he knew about the case. 

"I know that Fred Whipple’s got somethin’ to do 
with this,” piped the old man quickly. "Him an’ 
my son — ” 

"Your Honor!” protested the prosecuting attorney, 
"I submit that this is not evidence.” 

"Avast there, you!” cried Cap’n Len, and thumped 
on the floor with his cane. "Don’t you try to blow me 
off’n my course. I cal’late I know evidence just as 
well as you do, and maybe a sight better, too!” 

This drew a chuckle from the audience, but it 
brought the captain a reproof from the judge, 
and soon it developed that Grandpa Sennett’s "evi¬ 
dence” had no direct bearing on the case. He 
stepped testily down from the stand, and gave way 
to Elmer. 

Elmer was a good witness. At first a little con¬ 
fused, he soon became master of himself again, and 
answered Mr. Tucker’s questions clearly and defi¬ 
nitely. In spite of the prosecutor’s repeated objec- 


96 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


tions, Elmer testified that a plank had been torn off 
the side of the lobster car, that Whipple had offered 
to buy doubtful lobsters of his father, and that later 
Whipple had asked the two boys where these lobsters 
were. 

"Your witness,” said Mr. Tucker at last, and turned 
to the prosecutor. 

The prosecutor declined to cross-examine Elmer, 
and at that Mr. Tucker dismissed him and called 
his brother. Tom gave much the same testimony, 
but created a scene when he answered a question about 
Fred Whipple. 

"Yes, he said he’d buy line lobsters of us,” nodded 
the boy, and added: "We wouldn’t do it, and that’s 
why some of those fellows cut our traps loose and 
planted shorts on us.” 

Instantly the prosecutor was on his feet, angry and 
voluble: 

"Object! Your Honor, I submit that this last re¬ 
mark of the witness is uncalled for. Statements of 
this kind have nothing to do with the case. It’s 
ridiculous the way these witnesses have put into the 
record remarks which have not the slightest bearing 
upon the point at issue. If Your Honor please — ” 

"Are there any more witnesses?” asked the judge. 

"No, Your Honor.” 

"Then let us bring this case to a conclusion.” 

The wrangling came to a halt. Tom descended 
from the stand, and the summing-up began. The 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


97 


twelve jurymen sat behind their railing, gravely lis¬ 
tening. 

At length Mr. Tucker rose. He removed his eye¬ 
glasses and faced them, his voice low and confidential. 

"Gentlemen of the jury,” he said, "I venture to 
say that this is something more than just a short- 
lobster case. The defendant is a man of undoubted 
good character, and he is accused of possessing lobsters 
of illegal length. Now I call your attention to the 
ease with which a short lobster can be concealed. 
Lobsters are small creatures, and as such they can 
easily be placed in a man’s boat, his fish-house, or 
even his clothing, without his being immediately 
aware of it. The evidence in this case shows that a 
plank had recently been ripped from the side of the 
defendant’s car, and afterward nailed back in posi¬ 
tion. Who did this? Clearly it was some person de¬ 
sirous of effecting an illegal entry into that car. 
And who was that? I ask you, gentlemen, to see a 
connection between this forced entry and the fact 
that very soon thereafter short lobsters were dis¬ 
covered in the car. The presumption is clear. My 
client has been the victim of a plot. Nor is it difficult 
to guess the reason for this plot. The defendant in 
this case is fighting the severely low prices which the 
dealers have forced upon the lobstermen of Pelly’s 
Cove and other localities. Some one acting on the 
part of those dealers has tried to frighten the defend¬ 
ant into abandoning his fight, and having failed to 


98 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


frighten him, they have resorted to this more cow¬ 
ardly method of reprisal.” 

He paused for a solemn scrutiny of the jurymen. 
Then he went on: 

"That is the situation, gentlemen. My client is 
attempting to bring back a price for lobsters which 
will enable the fisherman to earn a decent living, and 
in so doing he has become an element of danger to 
the selfish dealers who have forced down the price. 
That is why they have caused his car to be planted 
with short lobsters, hoping, gentlemen, that you will 
be shortsighted enough to condemn him for something 
which is not his fault. Gentlemen of the jury, I call 
for a verdict of acquittal.” 

Mr. Tucker sat down. The boys gazed at him with 
admiration. He had put their case so simply and 
forcefully that they could not imagine the jury going 
against them. Henry Sennett sat silent and grim, 
but Grandpa plucked their lawyer by the sleeve, 
saying in a high-pitched voice: 

"Good work, young feller. You keep up like that, 
and you’ll be in the legislature, an’ resk it!” 

"Sh-h-h,” said some one behind them. 

The prosecutor had risen to his feet. He had al¬ 
ready summed up, but at this point in the proceedings 
he was entitled to a rebuttal, and apparently he in¬ 
tended to take it. The boys looked at him with dread 
in their eyes, for although he was not an unkind man, 
he had been elected to act as a public prosecutor, and, 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


99 


as so often happens, his zeal had got the better of 
him. He had formed the habit of wanting a con¬ 
viction in every case, and so his voice rose stern and 
impatient: 

"'Gentlemen, let me remind you that this is a short- 
lobster case, nothing more. The attorney for the de¬ 
fense has endeavored to complicate it with other 
matters; he has tried to obscure the issue by insinuat¬ 
ing charges against the Lobster Dealers’ Association, 
and various of its agents. None of this has any bear¬ 
ing upon the case, gentlemen of the jury. In this 
case Henry Sennett is on trial, no one else. The 
charge is the possession of illegal lobsters, and the 
defendant has admitted this possession. That is all, 
gentlemen. Do not let this talk of plots cloud your 
minds. It is nothing but an attempt to enable the 
defendant to evade the penalty of his offense. And 
it is a serious offense. If we did not enforce the law 
on short lobsters it would not be long until the indis¬ 
criminate catching of small lobsters would deplete 
the supply and eventually destroy the industry, just 
as many kinds of game and wild birds have already 
been killed out. Therefore it behooves us to be strict 
with persons convicted of keeping short lobsters. I 
call upon you to support the laws of the State of 
Maine, and return a verdict of guilty.” 

He sat down, wiping his face. Elmer and Tom 
stared ahead, hearing scarcely a word of the judge’s 
instructions to the jury. The cold implacable logic of 


100 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


the prosecuting attorney had destroyed all their hopes. 
They were afraid. Suddenly everyone seemed to be 
getting up and making for the door. 

"What do we do now?” asked Elmer. 

"There is a recess until two o’clock,” answered his 
father. "The jury will report then.” 

They went outside, Grandpa Sennett scolding them 
about the "krawm” (nonsense) that the prosecutor 
had "got clear of.” Mr. Tucker had an appointment, 
but before he left he pointed out a restaurant where 
they could get dinner, and said to them: 

"Well, it doesn’t look so good, but a jury is like a 
school of mack’rel, you never can tell what it will do. 
They may do the right thing by you, regardless of the 
evidence. I’ll see you folks at two o’clock.” 

The Sennetts went to eat, though none of them 
could have said what was on his plate. It was a mis¬ 
erable meal, and they were relieved when it was over. 
Back outside there was a little diversion, in the shape 
of Fred Whipple. He came strolling up, friendly as 
ever. 

"Hello, folks,” he smiled. "Looks like the case 
might go agin ye, don’t it?” 

"And wouldn’t you be as tickled as a cat with two 
tails, if it did!” said Cap’n Len. 

"Why, no, I should say not. I’d feel just as cut-up 
as you would.” 

He tried to continue the conversation, but they 
were not in the mood, and as soon as they could they 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


101 


went off by themselves, walking to pass the time. 
Wiscasset was a beautiful old village, yet they were 
too worried to enjoy it. At two o’clock they were 
back at the courthouse. They went in with Mr. 
Tucker. 

The court was already in session again, and the 
jurymen were just filing in. The Sennetts took their 
places, stiffly waiting. The members of the jury re¬ 
mained standing, while the clerk of the court ad¬ 
dressed them. 

"Have you reached a verdict?” he said to the 
foreman of the jury. 

"Yes, sir,” replied the foreman. 

"And what is your verdict?” 

"Guilty.” 


Chapter Seven 


NEVER SAY DIE 


T he outcome of the trial was a great blow to the 
Sennetts. There was the lawyer to pay, there was 
seventy-five dollars fine for being in possession of 
fifteen short lobsters, there was the loss of the father’s 
license, and most humiliating of all there was the 
stigma of a court conviction. Altogether it was a 
gloomy party that took Grandpa Sennett to his land¬ 
ing and then went on toward home. 

Tom was the first to recover. He got up the next 
morning as lively as ever, and with courage in his 
face. 

"I know how to get around this losing your license, 
Dad,” he said. "Elmer and I can apply for one. 
There’s no age limit. Maybe Elmer had better apply 
alone, though, because he’s older than I am.” 

"Just what I’ll do,” agreed the elder brother, and 
looked at his father. 


102 


NEVER SAY DIE 


103 


Henry Sennett lifted his head. The old fighting 
spirit was pulsing back into him. 

"Yes, you can apply/’ he said. "That will help us 
earn a livin’. But it won’t settle my end of things. 
They’ve convicted me of something I didn’t do, and 
that’s too much. What I’m going to do is to make a 
fight to git back my license.” 

Together they began the new campaign. Tom got 
into the motor boat and went to East Boothbay for 
license-application blanks, for though he could have 
got them in Pelly’s Cove, the boys preferred to keep 
the whole thing a secret, until their license was 
granted. Elmer filled out the blanks, inclosed the 
necessary fee of one dollar, and mailed them to Au¬ 
gusta. Lastly, their father carefully wrote out a 
statement of his case, inclosed affidavits of good char¬ 
acter from several friends, and sent the whole thing 
to the Fish Commissioner, together with a request 
that the commissioner restore his license. 

"There!” said Mrs. Sennett, with a sigh of relief. 
"I hope those two letters bring the right answers. 
You’re encouraged, aren’t you, Henry?” 

"Yes, I am. You know, if I get my license back I’ll 
be in a position to swing most of these Pelly’s Cove 
lobstermen into line against the Ring. My losin’ my 
license has worked up a lot of sympathy, and even 
though the fishermen are afraid to sign the petition, 
for fear of bein’ blacklisted, they’d maybe git over 
that feelin’ if I was vindicated. I’m countin’ on that.” 


104 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"How many days before we’ll hear?” asked Tom 
eagerly. 

"No tellin’,” said the father. "But we won’t set 
countin’ the days, boys. There’s work to do.” 

Mostly their work was the making of more traps, 
for although they still had approximately sixty, they 
could use as many as forty more, if they had them. 
The boys took hand axes and ranged through the 
woods, trimming out green spruce limbs of perhaps 
an inch and a half in diameter. Also, they took the 
boat, ran up to Pemaquid Falls at high water, and 
brought back a load of laths from the mill. Henry 
Sennett was still weaving nets for the traps, but by 
the time his son had finished sawing the spruce limbs 
and the laths into proper length, he was ready to 
start building. Each spruce limb was bent into an 
arc, and the ends fitted into holes bored into a strong 
flat board several inches in width. Three of these 
arcs were placed side by side, about twenty inches 
apart; then the laths were nailed horizontally across 
them, with inch spaces between. Afterwards the nets 
would be fitted into the trap in the form of funnels, 
making the affair practically complete. Henry Sen¬ 
nett had modified it somewhat, yet in its essential 
form this trap was the same as that which the Dutch 
colonists introduced into America, centuries before. 
The Dutch borrowed the idea, it is said, from the 
principle of an ancient rat trap. 

"Got your license yet, boys?” inquired Grandpa 


NEVER SAY DIE 


105 


Sennett one day. He had arrived too early for din¬ 
ner, and was watching the men folks at work in the 
shed. 

"No, not yet,” said Elmer. "We expect it to-day.” 

"Hope it comes,” observed the ancient mariner, 
carefully lowering himself into a chair. "Um, feels 
good to set down again. . . . Course, I ain’t sayin’ it 
won’t come, but I’ve seen some queer quirks in my 
day. I remember when folks used to ship lobsters 
up to Boston, and if the prices wa’n’t so very good 
the commission men used to deduct quite a few 
pounds for lobsters that got there dead. Didn’t 
want ’em, un’erstand? But you take it along in the 
winter time, when lobsters was scarce and the price 
was high, by ganny there wa’n’t never any reported 
dead then , now you tell your folks! Them commis¬ 
sion men jest sold ever’thin’ in the bar’l, dead or dyin’, 
an’ glad to have ’em.” 

The boys only smiled at this tale, but Henry Sen¬ 
nett was puzzled. 

"What’s that got to do with the license?” he asked 
the old man. 

"Oh, why, it jest shows there’s tricks in all trades, I 
cal’late. I jest got to thinkin’ that if some of them 
fellers in the Portland Ring sort of put a bee in the 
Fish Commissioner’s bonnet about ye, why maybe 
he wouldn’t give Elmer no license. Or you your li¬ 
cense back, neither. What’s your slant on that, 
Henry?” 


106 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Henry declined to say, but the next day the ques¬ 
tion was settled. Two long envelopes arrived from 
Augusta. One contained Elmer’s license to trap lob¬ 
sters, the other contained bad news for the father. 
The commissioner was sorry to say that he saw no 
reason for restoring the license, but advised him, in 
case he wished to continue the fight, to apply to the 
proper superior court. 

"I don’t know about that,” said Henry Sennett, 
when he had finished reading the letter aloud, "but I 
think I’d better go to Wiscasset and talk to Mr. 
Tucker about it. You boys go ahead with your traps. 
I’ll take the boat. I may stay a day or two, but I’ll 
be back before you’re ready to put your traps in the 
water.” 

The father went off that afternoon, leaving Elmer 
and Tom to haul their new traps down to the shore. 
Next morning they unlocked their fish-house and 
got out several big chunks of tar, as well as a huge 
iron kettle. All this was carried down to the beach, 
where in the lee of a convenient rock they built a 
fire, set on the kettle, and proceeded to melt the tar. 
Into this they would dip both warp and the netted 
heads for the traps, in order to preserve them against 
the ravages of salt water. 

"Fire feels good,” remarked Tom, trying to keep 
close to it without getting the thick smoke in his eyes. 

"It’s fall, all right,” said Elmer. "I hope we can 
have all of our traps out before the end of this week.” 


NEVER SAY DIE 


107 


The soft regular sound of oars made them look 
out over the cove. Ab York was coming ashore in 
his punt. He made it fast and walked toward them, 
surveying first the neat pile of lobster traps behind 
the boys and then the tar pot. 

"What’s goin’ on?” he asked genially. "Did your 
dad get his license back? I see you’re gittin’ ready to 
go again.” 

"Dad hasn’t got his license back yet,” answered 
Tom, "but Elmer’s got one. We’re going to put out 
Dad’s old traps, and these new ones, to boot.” 

"It’s too bad,” said York reluctantly. 

"What’s too bad?” 

"The whole thing,” answered the lobsterman. "Us 
folks haven’t got a chance. You know what I mean; 
this is what the city fellers call a racket. The dealers 
has got us down, and I guess we’ll stay down. Of 
course that bond law is a bad one, and it hadn’t 
ort of been passed, but it was passed, and now what 
can the fishermen do about it? Can’t do nothin’. 
There’s no competition, there’s no fair prices, there’s 
nothin’. Boys, there’s no use in tryin’, I’ve made up 
my mind to that.” 

During this speech Elmer’s steady eyes had re¬ 
mained fixed on the lobsterman’s face, and now he 
said calmly: 

"What you mean is that Father shouldn’t try to 
fight the Ring, isn’t that it?” 

"Well,” said York, "I don’t want to be too flat- 


108 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


footed about it, but he ain’t makin’ no headway, is 
he? Your dad reminds me of Tibbetts’s old cow, the 
time she mired down in the swamp. She kept fetchin’ 
one jump after another, tryin’ to git out, but the 
more she jumped the deeper she went. I wish Henry 
was a-makin’ some headway, but he ain’t. . . . Yes, 
an’ all these things he’s doin’ is jest makin’ it harder 
for the rest of us, too. Well, I got to run along, boys. 
I wish ye luck.” 

He clumped off home, the boys watching him go 
with sober faces. It was discouraging to listen to such 
talk from one of their best friends, and yet they were 
determined to look on the bright side. They had a 
license to trap lobsters, their traps were almost ready 
to put out, and along in the afternoon, to their sur¬ 
prise, their father returned from Wiscasset. 

"Did Mr. Tucker give you any encouragement?” 
asked Tom hopefully. 

"Not exactly. He thinks it would be a waste of 
time and money to fight it in the higher court. The 
thing to do, he says, is to let things quiet down, and 
appeal to the Fish Commissioner again.” 

"Well, that’s not so bad,” observed Elmer. 

"No, but something else has come up that I don’t 
like.” 

"What’s that?” 

"The Ring is cuttin’ the price of lobsters again,” said 
the father. "That’s nothing new, but this time it’s 
two cents at a time. The price was up to eighteen 
cents the day of the trial, and now it’s fourteen. They 


NEVER SAY DIE 


109 


dropped it to sixteen yesterday, and fourteen to-day. 
The worst of it is that Whipple’s lettin’ the fishermen 
know that it’s on account of their sympathizin’ with 
me. 

Tom gave the edge of the tar kettle a resounding 
whack with his dip stick. 

“That explains something!” he cried. “Ab York 
was here talking to us this morning, and he said that 
all the things you were doing were just making it 
harder for the rest of the fishermen. Probably he 
meant the price of lobsters going down to fourteen 
cents.” 

“What can we do, though?” said Elmer. 

“I don’t know,” answered the father. “I’ve got to 
figure it out. I’ll get to work, too. That’s how I do 
my best thinkin’. I’ll go on makin’ traps for you boys, 
but first of all we got to get this bunch here into the 
water, so they can fish. We’ll rig ’em right up.” 

The rigging took two days. All the knitted trap- 
heads were tarred, but now they must be fitted into 
the traps in the shape of funnels. New buoys must 
be painted. Warp had to be measured and cut in 
lengths, each line to be several fathoms longer than 
the actual distance from the surface of the water to 
bottom, in order to allow for the pull of the tide. 

At last everything was ready. The boys loaded the 
motor boat with traps, making trip after trip out into 
the cove, and taking their father along, to advise 
them where to set. 

“Now to see if we have any luck,” said Tom, when 


110 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


the last trap had slid off the back of the boat. "We’ll 
be back in two days, lobsters!” 

Henry Sennett at once turned the motor boat over 
to his son, and returned to his threefold task of build¬ 
ing traps, holding consultations with his neighbors, 
and trying to decide upon the next move against the 
Ring. Fortunately the price of lobsters did not go 
below fourteen cents, and as if to compensate for 
this low figure the boys began to take in big hauls. 
Their first netted thirty-eight pounds, and their sec¬ 
ond came to a few ounces over forty. Moreover, they 
were all "hard shells,” every single one of them well 
past the soft-shell stage which follows molting and 
renders them temporarily unmarketable. 

"Forty pounds!” beamed Whipple, as he weighed 
their second catch. "Forty an’ three ounces. That’s 
the next to best haul to-day.” 

The boys got five gallons of gasoline, took the bal¬ 
ance due them, and went off. They habitually said 
as little as possible to the lobster buyer, thus giving 
him a hint that they did not consider him a friend. 

"I hear the smack’s in,” said Mrs. Sennett one eve¬ 
ning. 

"Yes,” added her husband. "I’ve been wonderin’ 
if that Osier fellow is goin’ to bother the traps.” 

"I don’t think he’d dare to, after what’s happened.” 
said Tom. 

"You boys be careful,” advised the mother. 

"We will,” Elmer promised. 


NEVER SAY DIE 


111 


As it turned out, however, there was very little to 
be careful about. The damage was already done. 
Next morning they went to their traps. It was a 
fine day, the hills coloring into full autumn, the air 
crisp and deliciously hazy, and from some hidden 
spot along the shore of the cove the intermittent call 
of a loon, the first the boys had heard that year. They 
worked for three hours, hauling an average of fifteen 
traps an hour, and then came the surprise. Tom 
pulled up a warp to discover a big stone at the end 
of it, in place of the expected trap. 

"What on earth!” he exclaimed, and stood gaping 
at it. 

Elmer reached over and lifted the stone into the 
boat. The missile was roughly oblong in shape, and 
in one end of it was a hole, through which the warp 
had been tied. 

"That’s another of Pete Osier’s tricks,” he mur¬ 
mured. 

"Let’s go right to that smack and give him a thrash¬ 
ing,” cried Tom wrathfully. "That’s what he needs. 
And we can do it, too, in a fair fight. Come on, right 
now.” 

"Don’t be foolish,” said Elmer. "We won’t do any 
such thing, we’ll haul the rest of our traps and go tell 
Father. He’ll advise us right, you'd just get us into 
more trouble.” 

It was hard for Tom to give in, yet he finally did. 
Muttering vengeance, he went on working, pulling 


112 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


traps, taking out lobsters, putting in fresh bait. They 
found one more instance of Pete Osier’s work, namely, 
a trap completely missing, buoy, warp, and all. Evi¬ 
dently he believed in variety. 

"Now let’s sell our haul and go home,” said Elmer, 
when they were through hauling. "Don’t say a word 
to Whipple. No use showing our hand.” 

Tom nodded. He did not trust himself to speak, 
and so he kept studiously silent, not only on the trip 
across the cove, but at the lobster buyer’s pier. Elmer 
tossed out their catch, Whipple examining each lob¬ 
ster according to his custom, and handing one back. 

"Weak,” he observed. 

The lobster was limp, his claws sagging as if he were 
tired. Probably he had been injured in a fight with 
another lobster, at any rate he was not in shape to 
stand transportation to Portland. 

"Better take him home an’ eat him,” suggested 
Whipple. "He’ll be all right if he’s cooked right 
away. Big one, too, ain’t he?” 

"Pretty good size,” admitted Elmer. "How much 
have we got coming?” 

They got their money and went off. On the way 
to their mooring Elmer gave the weak lobster another 
scrutiny. His mother would be pleased with it, but 
the creature really seemed too close to death to risk 
eating it. 

"I think we’d better chuck it overboard,” he sug¬ 
gested. 


NEVER SAY DIE 


113 


"All right,” and Tom threw it out. 

"Hey there!” shouted a voice, and they looked 
round to see Ikey Jones drawing up on them in his 
motor boat. "What did you throw overboard there?” 

The warden came alongside them, the boys startled 
and then indignant. 

"I s’pose Whipple set you on us again,” said Tom in 
disgust. 

"No, he didn’t,” was the answer. "I just happened 
along and I saw you heave a lobster overboard. What 
was it?” 

"It was a weak one we were taking home, and if 
you don’t believe it you can go ask Whipple, he saw 
it. We were going to eat it, but it looked bad.” 

"That sounds all right,” said Jones, "but you boys 
know better than to do that. You could lose your 
license dumping anything overboard after you recog¬ 
nize a fish warden.” 

"We didn’t recognize you,” answered Elmer. "We 
didn’t even see you until you shouted, and that was 
after my brother had thrown it out.” 

"Yes, don’t try to frame us,” put in Tom. "We’re 
obeying the law.” 

"Well, all right, see that you do,” said the warden, 
starting away. "I don’t want any more trouble with 
you folks.” 

"I shouldn’t think you would,” Tom called after 
him, "after you swallowed that story about Dad keep¬ 
ing short lobsters!” 


114 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Elmer took the boat on to their mooring. There 
were several other boats there, and in one of them 
stood a man, alternately dipping a stubby broom 
into the water and scrubbing the floor of his motor 
boat. It was Jard Kittredge, a man that the boys’ 
father had tried to get to sign his petition, only to 
discover that Kittredge owed money to Fred Whip¬ 
ple, and was therefore a partisan of the Lobster Ring. 

“Warden after ye again?” said Kittredge, with a 
crooked grin, as the boys put their boat in order for 
the night. 

“Not that we know of,” was the answer. 

“I s’pose he overhauled ye just to invite ye to a 
clambake!” 

“If you want to know what he overhauled us for,” 
flashed Tom, “you go and ask him.” 

Kittredge lifted up with a laugh. He jerked his 
thumb toward the farther shore. The tide was far 
out. Some one was digging clams, and above his 
head circled a number of crows. 

“See that?” demanded Kittredge. 

The boys looked. Now and then one of the 
crows let something fall, and immediately afterward 
swooped down. The birds were dropping clams, pick¬ 
ing them out of the mud, carrying them aloft, and 
letting them fall down upon the rocks, where they 
broke open and made it easy for the crows to get at 
the meat within. 

“First time you ever saw a crow do that?” in- 


NEVER SAY DIE 


115 


quired Tom politely. "You must be a rusticator.” 

"I don’t mean them crows,” growled Kittredge, 
"I mean that feller a-diggin’ clams. See ’im all bent 
over in the mud? That’s the way you fellers is goin’ 
to be.” 

Tom untied the skiff and pulled it alongside the 
motor boat. He held it while his brother climbed in. 

"What makes you think that?” he asked, still with 
an air of great politeness. 

"Because it’s so,” rasped the lobsterman. "You 
think you can buck the Ring, don’t ye? Well, ye 
can’t, and ye might as well git the notion clean out 
of your head, afore you go broke and wind up on 
the clam flats. Haul your traps out o’ the water, 
that’s my advice to you fellers.” 

"And maybe it’s good advice,” said Elmer, in a 
strange tone. "I think we’ll take it. Thanks for the 
tip.” 

The younger brother sat down to row. He picked 
up the oars with a grin, but very soon he was serious 
again. For some reason Elmer actually looked as if 
he had meant what he had just said to Kittredge! 

"What made you say we might quit lobstering?” 
demanded Tom. 

"I’m beginning to think we should,” Elmer ex¬ 
plained. He paused and went on thoughtfully: "We 
could turn our traps over to somebody else. I don’t 
think we’re going to make a go of it, the way things 
are. Osier will keep on pestering us, and every time 


116 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


they get a chance some of those fellows will plant 
shorts on us.” 

"Bosh, we can fight back, can’t we! What’s the 
matter with you?” 

"Yes, we can fight back, but it’ll be just one petty 
squabble after another.” 

"So you want to quit!” 

"No, I don’t want to quit,” snapped Elmer, "I 
want to get somewhere, that’s all. Why not go into 
this fight on a big scale, so as to make it worth while? 
They want their own smack to take all the Pelly’s 
Cove lobsters to Portland, but why can’t we run a 
smack of our own?” 

"Run a smack!” gasped Tom. "Quit fishing and 
go into buying and hauling to Portland? Yes, but — 
where would we get our smack?” 

Elmer pointed across the cove in the direction of 
Grandpa Sennett’s place. They could see his white 
house, the stretch of meadow land going down to tho 
shore, and also the rickety wharf and the old schooner 
Nancy. 

"There’s our smack,” he said. "The Nancy, if 
Grandpa will let us fix her up.” 


Chapter Eight 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


W here’s Dad?” cried the boys, bursting into 
their mother’s kitchen. 

"I don’t know exactly,” answered Mrs. Sennett. 
"He said he wouldn’t be home for dinner. I think 
he expects to be at your grandfather’s along in the 
middle of the afternoon. Why, is anything wrong?” 

"No,” said Tom impatiently, "but we’ve got a 
great scheme we want to tell him about.” 

The mother peeped into the various pots that clut¬ 
tered the top of the stove. She was ready to serve 
dinner. A tolerant smile spread in her face as she 
replied: 

"Well, well, I s’pose you can wait till he comes 
home, can’t you?” 

"No, we ought to talk to him about it right off,” 
said Elmer, and when his mother looked surprised at 
this sign of haste in her elder son, he continued: "It’s 
important. We’d better go over to Grandpa’s and 
meet him there. If he comes home first, will you tell 


117 


118 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


him we’ve got an idea for smacking lobsters with the 
Nancy? Come on, Tom, we’d better go.” 

"Wait!” exclaimed Mrs. Sennett. "Dinner is ready, 
can’t you stop to eat?” 

"Oh, we aren’t hungry,” laughed Tom. "Don’t 
bother with us, Mom. We’ll have a snack at Grand- 
pa s. 

Hurriedly they went out, and having decided that 
it was shorter to cut through the woods afoot, they 
struck the path which their grandfather always fol¬ 
lowed on his trips to and from his son’s house. And 
as they walked along they discussed their new scheme, 
so full of plan ,and conjecture that before they knew 
it they were in sight of the old Sennett burying 
ground. Six generations of the family were buried 
here, including the grandmother for whom the 
schooner Nancy had been named. For more than a 
hundred years back all the men of the Sennett family 
had been seafarers, many of them captains, with the 
habit of keeping their vessels down at the wharf where 
the Nancy had rested for so many years. Cap’n Len 
was the last of these old-time skippers; he himself 
had helped to build the schooner, he had named her 
for his wife, and after many years of roaming the 
seas with the vessel he had brought her home for 
good, himself grown old and the Nancy no longer 
young. 

"Where are her sails?” asked Tom, as they caught 
sight of the schooner’s bare poles through the trees. 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


119 


“In Grandpa’s sail-loft,” said Elmer. “Sails won’t 
matter so much. There’s an auxiliary engine in her; 
that’s the main thing.” 

“Dad can handle that. We’ll have enough of a 
crew, won’t we? McLain’s smack only carries two 
men, and she’s almost as big as the Nancy” 

They turned up the slope toward Cap’n Len’s 
house, relieved to see signs that he was home. The 
ancient mariner was in the kitchen, puttering about 
in the effort to get together a belated dinner. 

“Wal, here ye be, be ye!” he greeted them. “Set 
down an’ we’ll have a bite in jest a second.” 

“Oh, we’re not hungry,” protested Tom. 

“No?” chuckled the captain, and stepped into the 
shed for a slab of dried pollock. “Fish don’t swim, 
neither, do they! I cal’late you’re hungry, all right. 
You set down now, an’ soon’s ever I git out some 
crackers an’ milk to go with that pollock I’ll jine ye. 
Set down, you!” 

The boys took seats. There were warmed-over po¬ 
tatoes and beans, but they passed over these to pick 
away slivers of dried fish, eating it more from excite¬ 
ment than from hunger. Cap’n Len sat down with 
them, whereupon Elmer spoke his mind. 

“Grandpa,” he said, “we want to use your 
schooner.” 

“Bless my soul an’ body!” exclaimed the old man. 
“Are ye figgerin’ on sailin’ to the Indies after rum, 
or are ye goin’ to turn pirate, or what?” 


120 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"No, we want her for a lobster smack.” 

Cap’n Len sobered down. Swiftly the boys ex¬ 
plained their plan, and as he listened their grand¬ 
father expanded with pride and satisfaction. His lips 
tightened, his pale old eyes glinted. Dinner was for¬ 
gotten. 

"Boys,” he said, when they had finished talking, 
"it sounds like sense, and sense ain’t so common as 
sculpins under a wharf, neither. Not at this day o’ 
the world it ain’t, no sirree. We’ll wait till your 
father shows up before we really talk business, but 
between you an’ me an’ the windlass bitt I can’t see 
nothin’ agin it, ’cept maybe that bond you got to 
have. What do ye figger to do about that?” 

They looked at him blankly. Neither of them had 
thought of that. 

"The law says,” their grandfather continued, "it 
says you can’t run a smack unless ye have a license 
specially for that. There’s dif’rent kinds of lobster 
licenses, but for a smack you got to git you a smack- 
man’s license, an’ no argyment. Git me that little 
brown book up there on the shelf, Tommie, about as 
big as m’ hand . . . it’s in there with a bunch o’ 
them old almanacs.” 

Tom hunted it out and handed it to him. The 
captain put on his glasses, paged through the book, 
and with a sudden clearing of his throat began to 
read: 

"Section 33 . . . licenses of smacks and vessels. 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


121 


Yes, here it is, right in black an’ white, an’ most of it 
nothin’ but words, too. Wait a second. Oh yes. . . . 
The owner or owners of any smack, vessel, or other 
means of transportation shall make written appli¬ 
cation . . . sure, sure. . . . The application shall 
state the name of the smack, etc., together with a 
description sufficient to identify it, the name and 
address of the owner — that’s me — the name and ad¬ 
dress of the master, the port of enrollment and regis¬ 
try. . . . That ain’t what I’m after. Here it is, 
though. Now you listen: Before said license is issued, 
the applicant shall file with the commissioner a bond 
with surety approved by the commissioner in the 
penal sum of five thousand dollars, conditioned that 
said sum shall be forfeited to the State upon breach 
of any agreement in the application and license. . . . 
H’m, what that amounts to is that you forfeit the 
five thousand dollars if they catch ye breakin’ any 
part of the law about lobsters, shorts or any of the 
rest of it. So who’s goin’ to go your bond?” 

That was a question that the boys could not answer, 
or even attempt to answer. One thing was certain, 
their father could not go their bond. He did not 
have the money. 

"It would be a mighty big risk for anybody ” con¬ 
tinued the captain. "Just you stop an’ think. If 
some of them fellers was to plant even one short 
lobster in your smack, you’d forfeit the hull five 
thousand dollars. No, more’n that, because somebody 


122 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


has got to take out a master’s license, besides the 
smackman’s license, and there’s a forfeit of five hun¬ 
dred on that. Altogether, it’d be a loss of fifty-five 
hundred dollars if the least little bit o’ the lobster law 
was broken. So I s’ pose you wouldn’t ask me to go 
your bond, would ye, now?” 

"No,” said Elmer earnestly, "we wouldn’t do that, 
Grandpa. We wouldn’t ask you to take the risk.” 

Then Cap’n Len threw off his mask. With a loud 
snort of contempt he banged down on the table with 
his gnarled old fist, exclaiming: 

"Ye wouldn’t, would ye! That’s jest the trouble 
with you young fry, ye want everything to your¬ 
selves. Takin’ a little risk is exactly what I need, you! 
Here I been becalmed in this little hole in the beach 
for more years than you got fingers an’ toes, an’ when 
I git a chance to mix up in somethin’ lively agin, an’ 
kind of keep my j’ints limber, you say, oh no, 
Grandpa, you can’t take no risk, you jest go on 
a-settin’ in the corner, a-smokin’ of your pipe, till 
it’s time for ye to be hauled out there to the buryin’ 
ground with the rest of ’em. Think I’m a old has- 
been, do ye? Course I’ll go your bond. Now you 
fellers come on an’ we’ll look the vessel over.” 

The boys sprang up, speechless with delight. Cap’n 
Len seized his cane, threw open the door, and stalked 
out. He led the way down the path toward the 
wharf, his glance on the Nancy . Originally a small 
"banker,” meaning a vessel spending most of her 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


123 


time at the fishing "banks” in the North Atlantic, 
the Nancy had later gone into the coasting trade and 
had finally become a tramp freighter to far corners 
of the earth, her crew cut from twenty to four or 
five, and her sails supplemented by a gasoline engine. 

"Look at her,” smiled Tom, as the old vessel swayed 
a little with the tide, and seemed to tug at the stout 
hawsers that held her at the wharf, "she acts as if she 
wanted to go!” 

"She do that,” declared Cap’n Len. "Ye see, she’s 
been chock to Jericho, as ye might say, an’ been in all 
kinds of tight places, like Thread o’ Life when there 
wa’n’t anywheres near enough water for her, an’ the 
last time her an’ me come home up come a little two- 
by-four capful o’ wind ’tother side o’ Seguin Light an’ 
we had to run for the cove here under bare poles. 
I kind o’ figger the Nancy didn’t like bein’ chased in 
like that; she wants to tackle the old sea agin, I 
cal’late.” 

Elmer nodded: "Well, this is her chance, if Father 
will only agree to it. I wish he’d come.” 

"Look out for this here wharf,” cautioned Grandpa 
Sennett. He started along it, peering down at the 
holes and cracks that fairly honeycombed the rickety 
structure. "This thing wa’n’t built of the stuff that 
went into the Nancy.” 

He was not boasting. The schooner was weather¬ 
beaten, and her lower hull was covered with barna¬ 
cles; nevertheless, she was sound. She had been built 


124 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


in the days when there was no thought of skimping 
or using inferior substitutes. Nothing but the best of 
culled stock had gone into her; she was copper- 
fastened, and her trunnels were of the choicest lo¬ 
cust. They got aboard her, the captain murmuring: 

"Yes, she can be turned into a smack all right, but 
there’s one thing you boys have got to promise me, 
and that is, never to leave her alone after you start 
buyin’ lobsters. Somebody might sneak some shorts 
aboard of ye. I ain’t a-goin’ to have my vessel dis¬ 
graced by no such mix-up as that. An’ besides, there’s 
that bond to look out for.” 

"One of us will sleep aboard her every night,” de¬ 
clared Tom. "Won’t we, Elmer?” 

"Sure, that’ll be easy,” said the elder brother. 
"What I’m thinking about is Dad. I wonder what 
he’ll say to all this.” 

"Why he’ll jump at it,” said Grandpa Sennett. 
"If he don’t I’ll make him like it, the young whipper- 
snapper!” 

There was no need of forcing Henry Sennett to 
approve of the idea, however. He came an hour later, 
straight from home, where his wife had told him 
what the boys had in mind. Quietly he climbed 
aboard the schooner, announcing, before they had 
time to explain, that he approved. 

"I’ve been thinkin’ about it on the way over here,” 
he said, "and I’m convinced you boys have hit on a 
great scheme. It’s strategy, and that’s an important 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 125 

thing in any kind of a fight. I’ll turn our traps 
over to your Uncle Joe Gammage. Now about the 
bond . . .” 

"All settled,” said Cap’n Len. 

"Grandpa has a master’s papers, too,” added Elmer. 
"He’ll have to be in charge when we haul to Port¬ 
land.” 

"Still got your papers?” Elenry Sennett inquired 
of his father. 

"Cal’late I have,” said the old man proudly. "They 
need renewin’, but that’s easy done. Jest send ’em in 
to them fellers at the Customs House in Portland. 
I’ll be the skipper, an’ you an’ the boys can help me.” 

"It might turn out to be the best thing ever,” mur¬ 
mured Henry Sennett. "My petition won’t work, I 
know that. Everybody’s afraid of the Ring. But you 
let us get the edge on the dealers by runnin’ competi¬ 
tion with ’em in a smack, an’ it’ll give the lobstermen 
some courage. It’ll turn ’em, an’ get ’em on our side. 
Now we got to get to work.” 

Work it was, and plenty of it. The captain and 
Henry Sennett estimated what would have to be done 
before the schooner could function as a smack, then 
they filled out applications for a smackman’s license 
and also for a renewal of Cap’n Len’s license as master. 
Meantime the boys went for tools, nails, lumber, and 
other necessary supplies, and early next morning all 
hands were on deck, to help make a lobster smack of 
the Nancy . 


126 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Did you hear anything about that Osier feller, 
Henry?” asked Grandpa Sennett, when he was safely 
off the treacherous wharf and on the schooner’s deck. 

"No, except what the boys told me last night. 
Somebody cut one of our traps adrift, and tied a 
stone on to another one of our warps. I cal’late Pete 
Osier done that.” 

"Well, if he did, it’s the last time he’ll bother ye,” 
observed the captain grimly. 

"Why, grandpa?” asked Tom. 

"Because he prob’ly drowned hisself yisterday. 
They found Cheever’s motor boat clean down the 
other side of the sardine factory, an’ nobody in it. 
Osier borried it, I hear. He must of fell overboard, 
same as one of them city fellers does, now an’ agin.” 

The incident gave the boys something to talk about, 
yet within half an hour they had put it aside. Osier 
would probably turn up. Also Elmer and Tom must 
give their entire attention to the work in hand. In 
order to transport lobsters in the traditional manner 
it would be necessary to build a "well” in the schooner. 
Selecting a space in the middle hold, Henry Sennett 
marked off an area some twelve feet square. A ver¬ 
tical wall or bulkhead was to be built up at each side 
of this squared area, built up, calked, and made water¬ 
tight. When the four walls were within a few feet 
of the deck they would be drawn together to make 
a relatively small hole. Through this hole — covered 
by a locked hatch when not in use — lobsters could 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


127 


be put in from above, and later on taken out with a 
long-handled bail. Finally a number of holes an inch 
and a half in diameter must be bored in the bottom 
of the "well,” so that salt water for the lobsters could 
come in. The water in the well would of course rise 
no farther than the level of the water outside, and 
could not penetrate to other parts of the ship. A well 
in this type of lobster smack reduces the speed that 
a vessel is capable of making; on the other hand it 
provides an excellent method of moving lobsters with¬ 
out depriving them of the salt water which is their 
natural element. 

Up in Grandpa Sennett’s stable there was a pile of 
old ship’s planking, streaked with rust and riddled 
thickly with trunnel holes. The boys hauled this 
down to the wharf; then, while their father sawed it 
into appropriate lengths, Elmer and Tom went down 
to the beach with the captain. The ancient mariner 
was provided with a quantity of Manila fiber, which 
was to be soaked in tar and thus converted into 
oakum, for chinsing up the cracks between the planks 
of the lobster well. 

"Ill show ye how to do it,” said Grandpa, stirring 
the tar as it melted over the fire, "but dear me, suz, 
I can’t show ye nothin’ like what uster go on to this 
beach, come spring o’ the year. We used to overhaul 
our vessels then, ye un’erstand. Heel ’em right down 
on the beach we would, and all hands turn to an’ give 
the hulls a good goin’-over with birch brooms, then 


128 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


we’d tar ever’thing in sight an* take a lot o’ this 
oakum an’ pound it into the seams everywhere there 
was a crack or a hole the bigness of a eye in a needle. 
Now, then, we’ll put in our Manila.” 

The oakum was finished, when Bart Randall came 
along, a lath basket on his arm, and in his hand a 
short-handled clam hoe, an implement which is pro¬ 
vided with tines in place of one solid blade. 

“Too late!” called Tom. “You missed seein’ us 
make oakum.” 

Bart walked up. He stood looking on, Elmer ex¬ 
plaining what they were doing, and adding: 

“Where are you going, after clams?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good way to catch a dollar, if your back can 
stand it,” observed Grandpa Sennett. “I call to mind 
that Warren Munsey over there to New Harbor hill 
uster dig four bar’l at a tide, if he was feelin’ right 
chipper. Or was it five bar’l? I disremember which it 
was, but it was quite a few.” 

A shout made them turn round. Henry Sennett 
was waving to them from the wharf. 

“Elmer,” he said, “you an’ Tom can start boardin’ 
up, if you’re through there. Plenty o’ plankin’ here 
to start on.” 

The captain offered to attend to the drying of the 
oakum, and his grandsons returned to the wharf, Bart 
silently with them. He seemed to have something 
on his mind; at any rate he gave up his plan to dig 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


129 


clams; instead, he began to help the boys carry planks 
down in to hold of the schooner. Also he helped 
them nail up one side of the well, and then, as they 
paused to rest, he told them what was wrong. 

"It’s about Pete Osier/ 5 he began. "He’s still miss¬ 
ing, and there wasn’t anything in his boat but five 
or six stones. The storekeeper says they come from 
the old fort over at Pemaquid. They turned ’em over 
to the sheriff.” 

"Oblong rocks, with holes in ’em, for iron braces?” 
asked Tom. 

"Yes, I think so. I was goin’ to tell you about my 
dad, though. He’s gone somewheres.” 

"What!” 

"Maybe not for good,” continued Bart, "but he 
run out of the house yesterday afternoon and never 
come back. We heard a boat cornin’, and Dad he 
must’ve recognized the engine, because just as it 
stopped he jumped up and told me to tell ’em he was 
gone, then he took out the door. I went to the door 
to see where he was goin’, but before I could do any¬ 
thing I heard somebody cornin’, so I went back in¬ 
side. It was Sime Cheever, and he was upset as he 
could be. Wanted to know where Dad was, an’ when 
I told him he wasn’t there he wanted to know if Pete 
Osier was there. I said no, he wasn’t, and he wanted 
to know if he’d been there, and I said no again, and 
purty soon he went off home. . . . I’m afraid he 
blames my dad because Osier’s missing.” 


130 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Foolishness,” said Tom. "Why should he do that?” 

"I don’t know.” 

"Osier never used to come to your place, did he?” 
asked Elmer. 

"No.” 

"Well, don’t you fret,” declared Tom. "It hasn’t 
got anything to do with your dad, I’m sure of that. 
More likely it’d be us they’d try and get mixed up in 
it. Certainly! Osier was tampering with our traps 
the day he disappeared; we’ve got the stone that 
proves it. We’d better keep it, too, in case Cheever 
or McLain tries to make trouble for us. The one we 
found in our warp is the same kind you say the sheriff 
got out of the boat. I guess that proves something.” 

Bart continued gloomy, whereupon Elmer took a 
hand at cheering him up. 

"Tom’s right,” said the elder brother, "anyhow 
there’s probably nothing to worry about. Osier tied 
up the boat at the old clam factory one time before, 
and this time he maybe thought he didn’t have time 
and let it go adrift, or it could have got loose by it¬ 
self. Dollars to doughnuts he went back to Portland 
on the smack.” 

"Maybe,” said Bart. 

"It’s more than maybe. And your dad will soon 
be back. He had some reason for not wanting to see 
Cheever, that’s all.” 

A thumping on the deck above their heads indi- 


THE NANCY TAKES A HAND 


131 


cated that Henry Sennett had more planks for them. 

'Til tell you what,” Tom said to Bart, as they came 
up into the open air, "if your father doesn’t come 
back you come and stay with us. I know Dad will 
pay you to help us. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of 
us, if you don’t mind taking sides against the Ring.” 

"I’d like to see that Ring take a good lickin’ from 
somebody,” said Bart resentfully. "Yes, and I’ll do 
anything to help that I can. That Cheever-McLain 
crowd acts like my dad was a crook, and I’m sick and 
tired of it.” 

"Hooray!” grinned Tom. "Dad, here’s a new 
recruit.” 

"What’s wrong, Bart?” said his father, pausing at 
his work. 

The boy told him, Elmer adding: 

"If his father doesn’t come back we thought maybe 
Bart could work for us, helping at different things.” 

"Why, yes,” said Henry Sennett, "if he isn’t afraid 
the Ring will make trouble for his father, on that ac¬ 
count.” 

"No, I’m not afraid,” was the answer. "I don’t 
think they’d do any more than they’re doin’ now, 
and if I could help along on the smack, and that way 
do something to fight the Ring, I think my dad would 
be better off in the long run. If he’s gone off some¬ 
where, I’ve got to decide it for myself, and that’s the 
way it looks to me now.” 


132 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"How long has your pa been gone?” asked Henry 
Sennett. 

"Since yesterday.” 

"Well, lad, I hope he comes back. But if he doesn’t, 
you come and help us. I’ll pay you what it’s worth.” 














Chapter Nine 


BROKEN ARM 


T he well in the hold of the schooner was planked 
up, after which Elmer and Tom plugged the 
cracks tight with oakum, working sometimes with a 
calker’s mallet and sometimes with a heavy knife. 
Their father, meanwhile, had been experimenting with 
the Nancy’s engine. It had lain idle for years, but 
Henry Sennett was a clever mechanic, and by the time 
the boys were through calking he had succeeded in 
getting a hollow cough out of it. 

"I cal’late it’ll do,” he said, rising up with greasy 
hands. "By the time we’re ready to take our first 
load o’ lobsters to Portland I think I’ll have her in 
order.” 

"What next, Dad?” asked Tom. 

"All through with the oakum?” 

"Yes, she ought to be water-tight now.” 

"Well, then, we’ll bore holes in the bottom. Go 
borrow a bit of Grandpa. The tide’s out just about 
far enough, if we can get at it.” 


134 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Cap’n Len had been tired out by all the excitement 
of the past few days, and was keeping to his house 
this morning. Nevertheless, he was still brisk and 
gay, as Tom discovered when he went up the hill to 
ask him for something to bore holes with. 

"'Right out in the stable, just inside the door,” said 
the old man, "an 5 make sure you take a good bit, too. 
Them timbers in the Nancy is tough, you! No, sir, 
you won’t git through them with no mail-order bits.” 

Tom chose his tools and returned to the vessel. His 
father and Elmer he found in the well, and quite 
ready to agree with the captain that the Nancy was 
made of tough timbers. They were ripping off two 
layers of hard pine sheathing, each layer three inches 
thick, and beyond this the outside wall of oak waited 
for them. When everything was ready, they began 
to bore their holes, taking turns, and making progress 
slowly. Before they had more than half as many holes 
as they needed, the tide had turned, and the well was 
taking in too much water, whereupon they left off. 
Next day they finished the job. 

The end of all their preparations was now in sight. 
There was a hole in the deck to communicate with 
the well, a stout hatch two feet by three and a half, 
and salt water in the well below. They watched 
it with satisfaction. Save for a leak here and there 
in the bulkheads, the sides of the compartment were 
water-tight. The boys climbed down to plug the 
cracks from the outside, the father calling to them: 


BROKEN ARM 


135 


"After you get through there you can paint a sign. 
Fm goin’ after some new spark plugs for that engine.” 

"That sign is what I want to do,” said Elmer. 
"Come on, Tom, hand me some more oakum.” 

They hurried through and went up on deck. El¬ 
mer was interested in painting, and now he prepared 
to do his best. Selecting a wide smooth board, he 
carefully sandpapered the surface, Tom critically 
watching him. 

"It’s queer Bart hasn’t been around,” observed the 
younger brother. "That was day before yesterday he 
was here. His father must have come back.” 

Elmer was too occupied to talk. The Captain had 
given him two cans of paint, red and white, and with 
these he now set to work. The entire surface of the 
board was painted white, and as soon as it had dried 
he took red paint and began the lettering. 

"Don’t try to get fancy,” advised Tom. 

"You, either! Fm doing this.” 

All in all it was a good job. Here and there the 
letters were a bit crooked, but at a distance it looked 
very well. It read as follows: 

LOBSTERS BOUGHT FOR CASH 

PRICE ALWAYS THREE CENTS 
MORE THAN LOCAL COMPETITOR 

"Not bad,” admitted Tom. "You know, that’s a 
great idea of Dad’s to pay three cents more than 


136 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Whipple. It certainly is, because the Ring always pays 
a lot under the figure that the Portland market justi¬ 
fies, and even by raising them three cents we can still 
make a profit. Well, here’s Dad now. And he’s got 
some mail.” 

It was Henry Sennett’s license to smack lobsters, 
and when the boys saw it they set up a shout that 
brought Grandpa’s head out of the window, up at the 
big white house. 

"License!” they shouted at him, but he could not 
hear them, and presently he came hobbling down the 
path to see what was going on. 

"Oh, license,” he said, when they had told him. 
"Why didn’t ye say so? Any word from the Customs 
House in Portland about my papers bein’ renewed?” 

"No, that may take longer. They’ll come, though.” 

"I guess likely,” declared the ancient mariner, and 
went down below to see what they had done to his 
schooner. He came back presently, to approve El¬ 
mer’s sign and watch them nail it to the foremast, so 
that it would be plainly visible from the cove. 
"That’ll fetch ’em to their mutton,” he declared. 
"Well, I’ll be gittin’ back to the shanty, I cal’late. 
I’m a little mite shaky on my pins, for some reason.” 

The boys and their father likewise went home, 
Tom asking, as they went across the cove in their 
boat: 

"Did you hear any news about Bart’s father to¬ 
day?” 


BROKEN ARM 


137 


"Yes, I did,” said Henry Sennett. "He’s still away, 
accordin’ to tell.” 

"Anything new about Pete Osier?” 

"Nothin’ worth listenin’ to, no.” 

And again the boys let Osier pass out of their 
minds. There were too many other things to think 
about. At last everything was ready on the Nancy . 
She was in shape to receive lobsters. Their sign was 
up, a challenge to the Ring. To-morrow they would 
start buying — if any one would patronize them. 

"Uncle Joe Gammage will, anyway,” said Elmer, 
at breakfast next morning. "I wonder how he’s 
makin’ out with our traps.” 

No one knew, for Uncle Joe lived at East Booth- 
bay, and ordinarily came to Pelly’s Cove very little. 
Of late years he had gone into boat-building as a 
trade, but just now business was slack, and he had 
readily consented to take care of Henry Sennett’s 
traps. Uncle Joe was due to haul them and bring in 
his catch to-day. Tom rose from the table and put 
on his cap. 

"Yes,” he said, "Uncle Joe will sell to us, and he 
won’t be the only one, either.” 

The father looked at him, silently disapproving. 
Henry Sennett did not believe in assuming too much, 
there was too much caution in him for that. Elmer 
likewise was unwilling to make predictions, though 
he was secretly hoping that Tom was right. Soon 
they were on their way to the shore, and a few minutes 


138 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


later the motor boat was taking them up the cove 
toward the Nancy . A faint sound came to them 
from the direction of Whipple’s pier. It was the lob¬ 
ster buyer shouting and waving at them. 

"He wants us to come over there,” grinned Tom. 
"I’m going to jolly him along.” 

"Our sign’s got under his skin,” said Elmer. 

Whipple continued to signal, and after a tantaliz¬ 
ing interval of merely staring in his direction Tom 
waved nonchalantly back, as if the lobster buyer were 
only sending them a friendly salute. Then they went 
on to the Nancy . 

"No sign of Grandpa,” observed Elmer, gazing at 
the house. 

"Better go up and see how he is,” said the father. 
"We’re early. Nobody’ll be through pullin’ traps 
for another hour, at least. Tell him he’d better not 
come down until the sun is warmer.” 

Elmer went up the path and into the house, pres¬ 
ently reappearing to call to them. The captain was 
not feeling very well, and Elmer was going to stay and 
keep him company. Then just before he went back 
inside Elmer pointed up the shore. It was Bart Ran¬ 
dall, coming slowly along in his boat. 

"Now maybe we’ll hear some news,” Tom told his 
father. 

Bart made his boat fast and came aboard. Yes, he 
had news. His father had failed to turn up, and so 
had Pete Osier. There was gossip about this double 


BROKEN ARM 


139 


disappearance. It was said that Osier had been at the 
store the evening before his disappearance, and that 
he had met Bart’s father there. The two men had 
talked in low tones to each other, and finally about 
nine o’clock they had gone out together. Osier had 
not been seen since. 

"So the idea is that your dad knows what happened 
to Osier?” asked Tom. 

"Yes, that’s what they say. I don’t believe it. Un¬ 
less . . . well, it might be this way. McLain was al¬ 
ways after my dad about something, and I think 
that’s one reason he ran off, to get away from those 
fellows. And Osier might have done the same thing. 
The Ring put him up to cuttin’ your traps loose; 
maybe he had to do that but he was afraid to keep 
on doin’ it, so he ran away. That way he and my dad 
might have gone together. Still, I don’t know.” 

Tom turned to ask what his father thought of all 
this, but Henry Sennett was absorbed in other mat¬ 
ters. He was scanning the cove, a speculative look in 
his eyes. To-day might easily be a turning point in his 
fortunes. It was autumn, and that was rather late 
to begin buying lobsters; on the other hand, Septem¬ 
ber and October were often busy months in this in¬ 
dustry. There were upward of forty lobstermen in 
Pelly’s Cove, each man tending an average of sixty 
or seventy traps. Certainly at this season no one would 
often catch less than twenty pounds of lobsters, and 
some would get as many as a hundred or even a hun- 


140 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


dred and fifty pounds. If he could only get them to 
sell to his smack, he would be striking the Ring a fatal 
blow. 

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! 

It was Uncle Joe Gammage, coming in with his 
haul. He had some forty pounds in his boat, yet the 
Sennetts did not at once take them aboard. Tom had 
caught sight of two more lobstermen on their way 
up the cove, and his father had a plan. Asking Uncle 
Joe to keep alongside the Nancy , he hurriedly ex¬ 
plained that he wanted to hoist up his catch just as 
the other boats were coming along; they were on their 
way to Whipple’s pier, and the sight of some one sell¬ 
ing to the smack would impress them. 

"One is Jard Kittredge,” announced Tom, in a 
disappointed tone. "He’ll never stop.” 

"Who’s the other?” 

"Crosby Hanna. He’s almost as poor a bet as Kit¬ 
tredge.” 

The boats came rapidly along, Kittredge ahead. He 
craned round at the Nancy as he passed, but gave no 
sign. Jard Kittredge would never desert Whipple, 
they knew that; if he did, Whipple would immedi¬ 
ately demand payment of a certain hundred dollars 
that Jard owed him. 

"Hanna is slowing down,” whispered Tom. 
"Watch.” 

There had been several hundred yards between the 
two boats, and now Crosby Hanna was still farther 


BROKEN ARM 


141 


behind. Slowly he approached, a shriveled old man 
with a face like a fox, and a reputation of being the 
local Shylock. When he was almost abreast of them 
Henry Sennett began to lower a basket into Uncle 
Joe’s boat, so that Crosby could see the smack was 
really getting lobsters. 

"He’s going by,” said Tom. "No, I don’t think he 
is. He’s circling back this way. Talk about bait ap¬ 
pealing to the eye!” 

Tom fell silent. The man had cut off his engine and 
was drifting up, a mixture of curiosity and avarice 
that would have been comical another time. As it 
was, everyone remained serious, Uncle Joe gravely 
filling the basket, his brother-in-law bending over to 
watch him, Tom standing ready to haul up the lob¬ 
sters. 

"Howdy, folks,” said Hanna. 

"Oh, hello, Crosby,” answered Henry Sennett, and 
with a brief look of recognition he returned his gaze 
to Uncle Joe’s boat. "All right, Joe?” 

"Haul away,” came the answer. 

Up came the basket, whereupon Crosby Hanna 
could restrain himself no longer. With his wide, in¬ 
credulous eyes on Elmer’s sign he said: 

"Buyin’ lobsters, air ye?” 

"Yes. Payin’ eighteen cents to-day. . . . What’s 
Whipple payin’?” 

"Fifteen,” said Hanna feebly. After a long silence 
he asked: "Air ye payin’ cash?” 


142 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"'Sure / 5 and to prove it Henry Sennett figured up 
what his brother-in-law had coming, and paid him. 
Uncle Joe pocketed it, saying as he prepared to move 
on: 

"I may send ye some o’ the boys from over ’round 
East Boothbay. It ain’t right for Whipple to be payin’ 
no more’n fifteen cents, ye know.” 

He went off, leaving Crosby Hanna still loitering 
about. Neither Tom nor his father appeared to notice 
him, until presently they heard him growl: 

"No, sir, it ain’t right to pay so little. A feller 
can’t make expenses if lobsters ain’t more’n fifteen 
cents.” 

"That’s one reason we’re payin’ eighteen,” observed 
Henry Sennett. 

"I guess I’ll jest try ye,” said Hanna at last, and 
moved up to the vessel. 

Glowing with triumph, Tom lowered the basket. 
Hanna put in perhaps three fourths of his catch, and 
signaled for the boys to hoist them to the deck. 

"What about the others there?” asked Henry Sen¬ 
nett. 

"Aw, I got to keep a few for Whipple,” cackled 
the lobsterman. "Got to make him think this is all 
I got, or he might gouge me for it.” 

It was the familiar old fear of being blacklisted by 
the Ring, and later that morning it came still more 
clearly into the open. Several fishermen passed the 
smack by, curious and interested, but likewise cau- 



"Buyin’ lobsters, air ye?**’ 



























BROKEN ARM 


145 


tious. Then came Ab York, the bottom of his boat 
fairly covered with lobsters. He made his painter 
fast, climbed up the ladder, and silently inspected 
their vessel. 

"Wal,” he said at length, "I s’pose you’re jest buyin’ 
for a little while, sort of experimentin’.” 

"We’re experimentin’, all right,” admitted the 
father, "but we figger on stickin’, too.” 

"That’s jest the p’int,” said York strongly. "Sup¬ 
pose me an’ a lot of others comes here with our lob¬ 
sters, and then after a few days, or a few weeks, you 
quit buyin’. Don’t ye see what we’d be in for? Why, 
the Ring would have our names and maybe they’d 
order Whipple not to buy our lobsters at all, after 
that. If anything like that happened, we’d jest about 
starve — wouldn’t we now?” 

"I’m stickin’,” declared Henry Sennett, in a firm 
tone. "You fellows sell to me, and I’ll always pro¬ 
vide ye a market. And what’s more, we can purty 
near make the Ring come up on their price, if we 
hang together. Better side in with me, Ab.” 

"I guess I will,” said York, with an air of finality. 
"I’ll tell some of the other fellers, too.” 

He said no more about it. The money for his lob¬ 
sters he accepted with a casual nod; then they talked 
of other matters. York looked at Bart Randall, still 
on board with Tom, and as if thus reminded of the 
puzzling disappearance of Pete Osier and Bart’s 
father, he said: 


146 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I was over to Sime Cheever’s yesterday, to get me 
some bait, and he claims Pete’s run into foul play. 
Been readin’ storybooks, Sime has, I cal’late, but I 
says to him, I says, if that nephew o’ your’n ain’t on 
the Portland smack, why, then he’s down at the bot¬ 
tom o’ the cove somewheres, an’ deader’n forty 
herrin’, at that.” 

Tom and Bart gazed down at the water, eternally 
restless, and opaque rather than transparent. Noth¬ 
ing showed in it, save an occasional mass of kelp, yel¬ 
low ruffled leaves and snakelike stems that moved 
gently with the heave and pull of the water. Could 
it be that Pete Osier had really drowned? 

"What’s Whipple say about it?” asked Henry Sen- 
nett. 

"Nothin’ at all. One thing’s sure, if he ain’t on 
the smack, McLain is goin’ to hush things up, far as 
he can. If he got too nosey about it, he’d let the cat 
out o’ the bag about Osier tyin’ a rock on one of your 
warp lines that mornin’. . . . Well, see ye later.” 

York was as good as his word. He suggested to his 
friends that they sell their lobsters to Henry Sennett, 
and before the day was out several of them took his 
advice. Nat Gilbert came, and so did Sam Murray 
and two of the Littlefields. Altogether nine fisher¬ 
men sold their catch to the new smack, the total 
weight for the day being a little short of three hun¬ 
dred pounds. Tom dropped the last of them through 


BROKEN ARM 


147 


the hatch and into the well with a feeling of victory. 

"I call it a good start,” he announced. 

Considering the obstacles against which they were 
struggling, it was a good start. And the next day they 
did even better. A number of fishermen — men like 
George Danforth, Ed Knipe, and the Thompsons — 
cautious but fair-minded men like these gradually 
came round to sell to Henry Sennett. They had long 
resented the low prices which the Ring had forced 
upon them, and they were at last convinced that Sen¬ 
nett was to prove their champion. At the end of the 
second day they had over eight hundred pounds in 
their well. 

"Grand!” declared Elmer. "But you go on home, 
Father. It’s supper time. Tom and I will eat with 
Grandpa, then we’ll come and sleep aboard, so as to 
watch that nothing happens to our lobsters.” 

"I think I’ll stay aboard her to-night,” said Henry 
Sennett. 

"Why’s that? Didn’t we do all right last night?” 

"Yes, but the Portland smack is due in to-night, and 
I don’t want to take any chances on those fellows 
makin’ trouble for us.” 

The boys objected and the father insisted, with the 
result that they finally compromised. Elmer went 
home; Tom and his father spent the night aboard 
the vessel. 

Nothing happened. The elder brother hurried 


148 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


aboard the next morning to find that everything had 
remained peaceful and calm. The smack was in, how¬ 
ever, so they must continue to be on guard. 

"Right,” said Tom, an hour later, and pointed 
across the cove. 

A motor boat was heading their way, and in it was 
McLain, the captain of the Portland smack. He came 
straight to the Nancy, tied up, and scrambled aboard. 
There was a hard look about his eyes. 

"MorninV’ he grunted. 

"How are ye?” said Henry Sennett. 

The captain gazed all about, as bold and arrogant 
as if he were aboard his own ship. He noticed the 
well, the equipment for hoisting and weighing lob¬ 
sters, then he turned to the Sennetts: 

"I understand you’ve been makin’ your brags about 
hurtin’ our business.” 

"No, I haven’t been braggin’ about it,” was the 
father’s reply. 

"Well, leave the brag out of it. I understand you’re 
tryin’ to run competition with us.” 

"Maybe.” 

"Don’t be a fool,” said McLain sharply. "Our 
competitors have a way of goin’ out of business. Do 
you want to get into trouble?” 

The boys flushed. They resented this manner of 
addressing their father; and yet they realized that he 
probably knew best how to conduct this conversation 
with the smack captain. And so they kept silent. 


BROKEN ARM 


149 


"Trouble,” murmured Henry Sennett. "No, I 
don’t want to get into any trouble.” 

"Got a license to smack lobsters?” demanded 
McLain. 

"Yes, I’ve got a license.” 

At this moment they heard some one coming along 
the wharf. It was Bart Randall. The sight of McLain 
made him hesitate, then he came on, slow but de¬ 
termined. He got aboard. 

"I want to talk to you,” he said to McLain. 

The captain looked at him in surprise. He laughed 
to show how lightly he regarded this remark. 

"Where’s your father?” he asked Bart. 

"I don’t know. That’s what I want to talk to you 
about.” 

"You go tell him I want to see him, right away,” 
said McLain, in a brusque tone. 

"He’s gone, I tell you,” said the boy. 

"Oh, I guess not. . . . Where did he go?” 

"I don’t know, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” 

"Huh, I’ve got a notion to box your ears,” scowled 
the smack captain. 

"Don’t try it,” put in Henry Sennett. 

Captain McLain looked back at the Sennetts: 
"Look here, you’re a pack of fools to think you can 
get away with this. I’ll give you just one day to close 
up this old tub of a schooner, an’ git back to your 
lobster traps. D’ye hear me? Just one day, that’s all 
I’ll give you.” 


150 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


“Yes,” said Henry Sennett, cold and stiff, “and HI 
give you jest exactly one minute to get off this vessel.” 

“What’s that, you’re orderin’ vie aroun’?” 

“You’re trespassin’. Git off this boat, an’ stay off.” 

The captain doubled up his fists; but he struck a 
wild blow, and Sennett immediately landed a heavy 
punch to his jaw. McLain stumbled back, then with 
a roar he seized a heavy stick from the deck and be¬ 
fore the boys could interfere he had struck his op¬ 
ponent across the head, knocking him down. 

“We’ll fix you for that!” cried Tom, and with El¬ 
mer close beside him he advanced upon the captain. 

“No!” cried their father. “Leave him alone!” 

They turned in uncertainty, whereupon McLain 
sprang over the side of the vessel and into his boat. 
In another instant he had the engine going. The boys 
helped their father get to his feet. 

“Why didn’t you let us go for him?” demanded 
Tom, almost tearfully. “You oughtn’t to let him get 
away with that, Dad, you know you shouldn’t.” 

“No use makin’ more trouble,” was the answer. 
“We can’t all be crippled up. Some of us has got to 
keep in shape to go on with this fight.” 

“Father!” cried Elmer in alarm, “what’s the mat¬ 
ter? Are you hurt? There’s no blood on your head.” 

“My head’s all right,” was the heavy reply. “But 
my arm doubled under me when I fell, I guess. Any¬ 
way, it’s broken.” 


Chapter Ten 


LOW-WATER SLACK 

B roken your arm?” cried Tom in excitement. 

'Til go for a doctor,” said Bart quickly. "It 
won’t take half an hour.” 

Elmer had a better plan. The thing to do was to 
get their father home, where he could rest in comfort. 
On the way they could telephone Dr. Belknap in 
Damariscotta, and he could be on his way in his 
automobile while the injured man was going the rest 
of the way home. 

"Yes, that’s best,” said the father, in a quiet tone, 
"but some one must stay here to keep an eye on the 
lobsters.” 

"I’ll do that,” volunteered Tom. "The rest of you 
strike out.” 

The boys helped the patient into the motor boat, 
and the party set out. At the other side of the cove 
Elmer and Bart took him ashore in the punt; then 
while Elmer started toward home with him, Bart 
hurried off to a neighbor’s, to telephone. 


151 


152 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"My right arm, too,” observed the father, as he 
strode along the path. 

There was nothing more said. Both Henry Sennett 
and his elder son were thinking of the same thing, 
namely, the effect of this broken arm upon their fight 
against the Lobster Ring. It was not the most serious 
of injuries, and yet it would certainly prevent the 
father from doing manual labor for a long time to 
come. 

"What’s the matter?” cried Mrs. Sennett, the in¬ 
stant she caught sight of her husband’s limp arm. 
"Henry, I was afraid something like this would hap¬ 
pen. Did you get into a fight?” 

"Yes.” 

"Couldn’t you have kept out of it?” 

"Didn’t seem so,” he muttered. 

She pulled up an easy-chair for him, and he made 
himself comfortable. Presently the doctor came, ex¬ 
amined the arm, and set it. He finished bandaging it, 
saying, as he rose to his feet: 

"It’s got to rest now.” 

"Yes, I know.” 

The doctor went away, leaving Elmer alone with 
his parents. Resentment still stirred in the boy, and 
after a while he said: 

"I wonder if Tom and I shouldn’t have tackled 
McLain when he knocked you down. Maybe you had 
a good reason for calling us off, but — ” 

"A very good reason,” was the rejoinder. "Keep 


LOW-WATER SLACK 


153 


your mind on important things, son. Our big aim is 
to win out against the Ring, not bruise people up with 
our fists. What would have happened if you and 
Tom had started to fight with McLain? Somebody 
would have been hurt, and likely as not arrested into 
the bargain. That would mean expense and delay, 
and it would give folks a chance to claim we were 
nothin’ but rowdies.” 

"'You’ll keep on, then?” inquired Mrs. Sennett. 

"Certainly.” 

"But things are getting worse,” she protested. 
"They’re actin’ like thugs. And now you’re laid up 
with your arm.” 

"It’s low-water slack,” said the injured man, with 
a thoughtful nod. "Do ye see what I mean? When the 
tide is on the ebb it keeps goin’ out an’ out till finally 
it’s down to its lowest point; then it stays right there 
for a while, neither movin’ one way nor the other. 
That’s low-water slack, just before the tide turns 
and starts flowin’ back in agin. Same with us. We’re 
jest about down to our lowest point in fightin’ this 
Ring, but there’s always a turnin’, and I cal’late in 
our case it’s jest ahead.” 

His two listeners appeared to be impressed by this 
argument, and yet they were not convinced. The 
father continued, his eyes on his son: 

"Elmer, I’m wonderin’ how you boys would get 
along without me here. Do you think you could man¬ 
age? Grandpa and Uncle Joe could lend a hand when 


154 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


you needed ’em, and I’d be back every once in a while. 
What do you think?” 

Mrs. Sennett was dumb with amazement at this 
talk, and Elmer was no less puzzled. 

"Why, I don’t know what to think,” he stammered. 
"We’ll do the best we can, but what is it about?” 

"I’ll tell you. I’ve been plannin’ this ever since 
I had it proved to me that the fishermen around here 
wa’n’t goin’ to take up that petition of mine. The 
thing is, they’re afraid it wouldn’t do any good, and 
if it didn’t, why then the King could penalize ’em for 
signin’ it. This fight isn’t no Pelly’s Cove affair; it’s 
bigger than that; it’s as big as the hull State o’ Maine. 
What we need to do is to get all the lobstermen along 
the coast in to this fight, ever’body from Eastport to 
Kittery. That many people with us would have some 
power, and instead of jest forcin’ the Ring to give us 
better prices right here to this cove we could break 
their monopoly all up and down the coast. It could 
be done, if somebody was to organize the fishermen. 
As it is, the Maine lobstermen are jest like an army 
where every man is doin’ things to suit himself, and 
that’s jest exactly why they’ve never got anywhere.” 

"That would be wonderful!” exclaimed Elmer. "If 
it would work. How would the fishermen go about 
it, though, even if they were organized?” 

"Carry the fight to Augusta, of course. The dealers 
got themselves organized and went to the legislature 
and got that bond law passed, so the fishermen could 


LOW-WATER SLACK 


155 


do the same thing. The bond law is the trouble. It 
keeps out competition and gives the Ring a mo¬ 
nopoly of buyin’ lobsters. If the law was repealed 
we’d have a guarantee of fair prices all over the State. 
Competition would see to that.” 

"Maybe the legislature wouldn’t repeal the law,” 
said the mother. 

"They prob’ly would, if it was brought to their at¬ 
tention right. Trouble is, most people in the State of 
Maine don’t really know anything about the lobster 
business, and that’s the way the dealers put over the 
bond law. If the question got public attention, people 
would realize what a hardship we’re workin’ under, 
and the legislature would prob’ly do the fair thing 
by us. Of course I’m no politician, and I don’t figger 
to go to Augusta, but I could start things to movin’ 
that way. Somebody’s got to do it.” 

There was a noise at the door. Mrs. Sennett got up 
to see who it was, and came face to face with Ab 
York and George Danforth. They were still in their 
rubber boots and oilskins, as if something had in¬ 
terrupted them in the process of hauling their lob¬ 
ster traps. 

"Come in,” said the mother. 

They clumped in to the kitchen, with their solemn 
eyes on the man with the broken arm. 

"How are ye, Henry?” they nodded. 

"All right. Broken arm, is all.” 

"That’s what we heerd,” said Danforth, and taking 


156 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


a chair he looked at Ab York, who was apparently to 
act as spokesman for the pair. 

"We heerd it,” declared York, "an 5 jest as soon as 
ever we found out it was a fact, and not jest a lot 
of gossip-talk, we put for shore. What’s worryin’ 
us is you maybe quittin’ the lobster-buyin’ business. 
Henry, if you do, you’ll ruin every mother’s son of 
us that’s come to ye with our lobsters, since you 
started up with the old schooner. You promised me 
you’d keep on furnishin’ us a market, so the Ring 
wouldn’t have a chance to beat us down for goin’ 
over to ye.” 

Henry Sennett had been trying to break in on this 
speech ever since he first realized the feeling behind 
it, and now his answer was emphatic: 

"Don’t worry. There’s goin’ to keep on bein’ a mar¬ 
ket, for all of ye. I made ye that promise, and I’ll 
keep it, if it takes a leg, as Grandpa used to say. Let 
me tell you my plans.” 

Briefly he explained the scheme which he had been 
discussing with his wife and son. At first the two 
lobstermen were alarmed to know that Henry Sen¬ 
nett himself was going away, but before he was 
through talking it was clear that he had won them 
over. The prospect of bringing about the repeal of 
the bond law rather took their breath away, yet it 
also appealed to their fighting instincts, and besides 
they would meanwhile be able to go on selling their 
lobsters to the Nancy . 


LOW-WATER SLACK 


157 


"Sounds fine,” admitted York, "only where’s the 
money to come from?” 

"I’ve thought of that, too,” answered Henry Sen- 
nett. "I’ve got some savings, and I’m goin’ to use 
’em. Part of that money can keep me goin’ while I’m 
away, an’ part can do for the boys to buy lobsters 
with.” 

"It’ll be enough, will it?” Danforth wanted to 
know. 

"If it isn’t, here’s my house I can mortgage,” said 
the other. "I tell ye I’m in this fight to the end, one 
way or the other.” 

"All right,” agreed Ab York, "just so the boys can 
swing their end of it here. There’s plenty that’ll give 
’em a bit of help or advice now an’ agin, of course. 
Sure, we’re all in the same boat. Well, I’ll wish ye 
luck, Henry, and if there’s anything we can do jest 
you tell us.” 

Thus it was settled, save that there were still a 
good many details to arrange. Henry Sennett went 
over to discuss things with his father. The renewed 
master’s license had not yet arrived, but it was due 
any time now. This license would enable Cap’n Len 
to take nominal charge of the smack Nancy, the 
actual handling of her to be done by Uncle Joe Gam- 
mage and the boys. On his way to Kittery, at which 
extremity of the coast of Maine he was to begin his 
work as agitator for repeal of the bond law, Henry 
Sennett planned to stop in Portland and inquire where 


158 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


the Nancy could best dispose of her load, when she 
arrived. 

"You’ll feel well enough to make the trip, won’t 
you?” he asked the ancient mariner. 

"Me!” cried Cap’n Len. "I cal’late I will, you! 
You won’t catch me givin’ up no v’y’ge on the Nancy, 
no, sirree, not that anybody knows of. I’m all right. 
You go ahead an’ start preachin’ sense into them 
fishermen; me an’ the boys can manage. When do 
ye leave, did ye say?” 

"To-morrow.” 

A last visit of inspection to the Nancy, and Henry 
Sennett went home. His wife had packed a suitcase 
full of clothes, to use while he was away. That night 
Bart Randall kept watch on the lobster smack, and 
Tom and Elmer held a final consultation with their 
father. Next morning they took him to Newcastle in 
the motor boat, where he was to catch the Portland 
train. 

"Good-bye,” he called, as he stood on the train 
steps with the broken arm bound neatly across his 
breast. "I’ll make out to write a line or two, even 
if it’s left-handed.” 

"Good-bye!” answered the boys. "And good 
luck!” 

As soon as the train had pulled out, Elmer and Tom 
started home, eager to assume the new responsibilities 
which their father’s absence was to thrust upon 
them. Bart had stayed with the Nancy, as an assist- 


LOW-WATER SLACK 


159 


ant who was to prove more and more valuable as 
time went on. The boys had fitted up berths in the 
forward galley, agreeing that two of them should 
sleep aboard every night, and keep watch over their 
precious lobsters. 

Everything went smoothly. Whenever a fisherman 
came with lobsters, they examined them, measured 
those of doubtful length, and paid in cash, all details 
of the transaction being duly entered in a large ac¬ 
count book, as a permanent record. Over across the 
cove Fred Whipple put the price up to sixteen cents, 
and the boys promptly raised theirs to nineteen. They 
were buying more and more lobsters, not only from 
strictly local fishermen, but from friends of Uncle 
Joe’s who made the trip from East Boothbay to take 
advantage of the higher price the Nancy was paying. 
At the rate they were going they would soon be on 
their way to Portland with a load. 

"Here’s a letter from Dad!” called Tom, hurrying 
aboard the smack one day. 

Elmer and Bart waited to hear what was in it, Tom 
slowly deciphering the rude scrawl which his father 
had produced with his left hand. He inclosed the 
address of a Portland dealer who would probably take 
their first cargo of lobsters, and then he described 
the situation in and around Kittery. There was a 
great deal of resentment against the Ring, but so 
far no one had done anything about it. As a conse¬ 
quence Henry Sennett was trying to persuade the 


160 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


fishermen to organize for the repeal of the bond 
law. 

"Put away that letter,” said Elmer at this point. 
"Here comes Jard Kittredge. We don’t want him 
to get wind of anything.” 

"Kittredge!” exclaimed Tom. "What does he 
want?” 

As it turned out, he wanted to sell them sixty 
pounds of lobsters! The man sat in his motor boat 
and called for the basket in which the boys custo¬ 
marily hauled up each fisherman’s catch. 

"You’re buyin’, ain’t ye?” he rasped, when they 
stood dumbfounded and silent. 

"Sure,” said Tom, and reached for the basket. 

"Don’t you do it,” warned Bart, in an undertone. 
"It’s a trick.” 

Tom hesitated, but his brother, always in favor of 
caution, promptly pulled back the basket, saying 
firmly: 

"I don’t think we want your lobsters, Jard.” 

"Oh, ye don’t! Mighty choosey, ain’t ye!” 

"It pays to be, sometimes.” 

Another scowl, a few muttered words they did 
not catch, and Kittredge went away. Then Bart 
explained: 

"Maybe I’m wrong, but the minute I saw that fel¬ 
low I remembered a trick he played on old Sol Geyer 
that used to keep the lobster pound. My dad told me 
about it the first time I ever remember seein’ Kit- 


LOW-WATER SLACK 


161 


tredge. They say he took a lot of short lobsters, cut 
a narrow little rim off’n the end of the back shell of 
some others that was bigger and could spare it, and 
fitted these little rims on to the short ones, to make ’em 
seem legal length. You know how rough an’ kind of 
blotchy a shell is right there; well, old Sol didn’t 
notice where they was patched up, and bought ’em. 
Then the Ring sent a fish warden an’ had him ar¬ 
rested. That’s how they put Geyer’s lobster pound out 
of business, accordin’ to my dad.” 

"Well!” Tom exploded, "I’ve heard of a good many 
tricks with lobsters, but that’s a new one.” 

"Whipple probably put him up to that,” declared 
Elmer. 

They were not sure of this, and yet when they went 
to buy gasoline Whipple did something to make them 
suspicious. He tried to buy them out, as though his 
failure to trap them through Jard Kittredge were 
stimulating him to further strategy. 

"Boys,” he said smilingly, "now that you’ve had 
your fun, sort of foolin’ around with this business of 
buyin’ lobsters, what d’ye say ye sell out to me?” 

"You mean you want to buy our lobsters?” de¬ 
manded Tom, in a startled tone. 

"Why not?” laughed the other. 

The boys looked at each other. They were not for 
an instant considering this offer, yet they could not 
help speculating about it. 

"How much will you give?” asked Elmer. 


162 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Just what you paid for them.” 

That brought a smile from the Sennett boys, but 
next time they came to the pier for gas they were 
puzzled rather than amused. It was only a few days 
later, and Whipple was as genial and bland as ever, 
yet there was somehow a note of triumph in his voice. 

"Remember what I offered ye for them lobsters 
the other day?” he inquired. "Well, that don’t hold 
good any longer. I can’t give you but half that much. 
And if you wait much longer I can’t give ye a cent 
for ’em.” 

"Why not?” demanded Tom, vaguely ill at ease. 

"Because they won’t be worth anything. They’ll 
all be dead.” 

Elmer and Tom went back to the 'Nancy and told 
Bart about it. None of them had any idea of what 
Whipple was driving at. For a time Bart was sure 
that the lobster buyer was merely trying to worry 
them, but the Sennett boys were taking it more seri¬ 
ously. 

"He’s got something up his sleeve, I’m sure of that,” 
said Tom. "What could it be, though? He couldn’t 
be planning to burn our vessel, or poison our lobsters, 
or anything like that.” 

Silently Elmer removed the hatch from the top of 
the well, and lay flat on the deck in order to look 
down inside. The inclosure was alive with lobsters, 
their long feelers twitching as they crawled nimbly 
about on the tips of their slender legs. Two of the 


low-water slack 


163 


creatures were facing each other, alert and pug¬ 
nacious, each with his powerful claws upraised. 

"Come here, fellows,” called Elmer. 

His brother and Bart joined him. They watched, 
while the two lobsters rushed at each other in com¬ 
bat. Each creature had had at least his "jam claw” 
closed by a rubber band, yet the battlers seemed to be 
doing pretty well with the other. One seized his foe 
by the smaller claw and began to drag him about, 
whereupon the victim "shot” the claw, that is to say, 
he let it go at the body joint, by means of which it was 
neatly and painlessly severed from the rest of his body. 
The victorious one immediately returned to the at¬ 
tack, pinched into his enemy’s jam claw and tore a 
hole in it, thereby letting the jellylike meat ooze out. 
Elmer shook his head. 

"That’s one lobster we lose,” he commented, "but 
that isn’t it.” 

"Did you think Whipple meant our lobsters would 
eat each other up?” asked Tom. 

"Yes.” 

It was dangerous to crowd lobsters, of course, but 
then the Sennetts were aware of that. Also they had 
arranged for safeguards. Every second day they set 
the gas engine to going, connected it with the ship’s 
pump, and by means of a large hose forced a flow of 
salt water through the lobster well, thus helping to 
provide the circulation which the creatures needed. 
This would be enough to keep them in good health 


164 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


until the smack got a load and left for Portland, which 
would be very soon now. No, it was not that the 
lobsters were overcrowded; but if it was not that, 
what could Whipple possibly have meant? 

It was that very afternoon that they hit upon the 
answer to this perplexing question. Cap’n Len 
stumped over to the road for the mail, and came back 
furious. Hurrying to the Nancy as fast as his feeble 
legs would permit him, he held a letter up close to 
his glasses, blinking at it, and grumbling: 

"Wal, if this says what I think it does. . . . Maybe 
it don’t, though. You read it to me, Tommie. I 
caPlate maybe I didn’t git the drift of the tormented 
thing.” 

Unfortunately the captain had got the sense of the 
letter, as Tom soon demonstrated. It was from the 
Customs House in Portland, and it announced that 
Grandpa Sennett’s papers as master could not be re¬ 
newed until he took the necessary examination, his 
license having lapsed too long ago for the authorities 
to extend it. 

"Authorities!” scolded the ancient mariner. "Land¬ 
lubbers, I calls ’em. I been a-goin’ on the water ever 
since I was the bigness of a trawl keg, an’ now some 
of these young sprouts that don’t know a flock of 
gulls from a mackerel sky, they set up there to Port¬ 
land an’ pertend I got to take me another exam¬ 
ination. Did ye ever see such works!” 

The boys were stunned. They were counting on 


LOW-WATER SLACK 


165 


Grandpa’s license to enable him to take charge of the 
Nancy on her trips to Portland, and if this were im¬ 
possible they were blocked. Neither Uncle Joe Gam- 
mage nor any other of their relatives or friends had 
a master’s license. 

"Maybe we could carry you up to Portland in the 
motor boat for the examination,” said Elmer. 

"I wouldn’t give ’em that much satisfaction!” 
cried the captain shrilly, then he wilted. He began 
to shake, his voice suddenly weak and husky. "Boys,” 
he confessed, "it couldn’t be done, no way you could 
fix it. My eyes would throw me out of any examina¬ 
tion them fellers would give me. I can’t see well 
enough. I . . . I . . .” 

"Don’t you mind, Grandpa,” said Tom, and took 
him by the arm. "Let’s go up to the house and rest. 
We’ll get out of this some way.” 

Elmer stood watching the captain toil back up the 
path, his body shrunken and bent beside Tom’s 
straight figure. The boy was full of mingled emo¬ 
tions, pity for his grandfather, alarm for the future 
of their lobster-buying enterprise. 

"So that’s what Whipple had in mind,” he mut¬ 
tered. "The Ring probably got the Customs House 
people to demand a new examination of Grandpa, 
and Whipple knew it. Our lobsters could stand being 
in the well for a few days more, but eventually some¬ 
thing will have to be done with them. Either we’ll 
have to stop buying, and just hold them, without any 


1 66 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


chance of selling them, or else we’ll have to get big¬ 
ger quarters for them. If we kept them here, and 
kept on buying, there’d soon be so many of them that 
they’d settle down on each other and all smother. 
I don’t know what to do, I just don’t know.” 

Bart was standing beside him, his face worried. 
Then by degrees it cleared. His eyes widened, his 
shoulders straightened. 

"Listen,” he whispered. "We can maybe rent that 
old lobster pound of Sol Geyer’s, and keep our lob¬ 
sters in that!” 


Chapter Eleven 


TIT FOR TAT 


L obster pounds vary in size, form, and detail, yet 
the essentials are always the same. A relatively 
small inlet of salt water is selected and some sort of 
fence built across its mouth, this fence being tight 
enough to keep lobsters from passing through, but 
loose enough to permit the flow of water. The re¬ 
sult is an inclosure called a pound, in which many 
thousands of lobsters may be kept for an indefinite 
period of time. 

"A pound is just what we need!” declared the en¬ 
thusiastic Bart. "We’re the same as hermit crabs 
when they grow: they move into a bigger shell, and 
we move from the smack to a pound. Sol Geyer’s 
pen is what we want.” 

"Yes, maybe that’s the solution,” said Elmer slowly. 
"But let’s not make any plans yet. I’ve got to talk 
it over with the folks.” 

Tom, of course, instantly approved the idea. It 
appealed to his imagination and his daring, and that 


167 


168 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


evening, as he and Bart prepared to spend the night 
on the Nancy, he gave Elmer instructions in the 
matter of winning over their mother. All of which 
instructions the elder brother ignored. He had no 
desire to paint too rosy a picture for her, lest she 
consent when she ought to refuse. Instead he ex¬ 
plained the situation clearly but fairly, and asked what 
she thought. 

"My!” sighed Mrs. Sennett. "I hardly know what 
to say. It seems like you’ve got to move the lobsters 
somewheres, but going into the pound business is 
such a big thing. Your father ought to decide that.” 

"The time is short,” said Elmer. "It’s got to be 
settled within a few days. Suppose I write to Dad 
to-night, and send it special-delivery. I could tell 
him how things stand, and meantime we could see 
what Grandpa thinks of it.” 

The mother agreed. Elmer sent off the letter and 
next morning returned to the Nancy, carrying with 
him the lunch which was to do all three of the boys 
for dinner. Bart and Tom had just finished making 
breakfast on the little oil stove in the galley, and 
were eager to hear the news. Elmer told them, adding: 

"Now to get Grandpa’s ideas on it. Or maybe 
Tom’s already done that.” 

"Leave it to me to try” laughed the younger 
brother, "but he was already in bed when I went up 
to see him last night. How about going now? Bart 
says he’ll stay with the boat.” 


TIT FOR TAT 


169 


The brothers went up the path, drawn to the shed 
by a thumping noise. Cap’n Len was splitting wood, 
his white hair flying at every stiff uncertain blow of 
the ax. 

"Let me do that,” said Tom, and taking the ax 
in his strong sure hands, he proceeded to make quick 
work of the wood-chopping. 

"Yes, that’s better,” murmured the captain. "I’m 
gittin’ old, boys. A few more years on to me, an’ 
I cal’late I’ll be as old as the North Star, what d’ye 
think?” 

"Oh, no, not that old,” smiled Tom. "We like to 
have you fairly old, though, so you can advise us.” 

"That’s right,” said his brother, and told the story 
all over again, crowded smack, lobster pound, and 
all. "So what do you advise us to do, Grandpa?” he 
ended. 

The ancient mariner had listened with strict atten¬ 
tion, obviously pleased that they had come to him with 
their difficulty. His failure to get his master’s papers 
renewed had dealt him a cruel blow, and now he saw 
a chance to make up for it. If he could not take the 
Nancy to Portland for them, at least he could help 
them with this new project. And so his reaction was 
emphatic and cheerful: 

"It’s just the thing to do, boys. You’ve got to git 
to bigger quarters, or else lose everything. A pound 
will take more money, because you’ll have rent to 
pay, and you’ll have to keep on buyin’ lobsters with- 


170 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


out sellin’ any till maybe the middle of the winter, 
but I’ll help out on that.” 

"But you’ve already helped us too much,” objected 
Elmer. 

"In for a penny, in for a pound,” said the ancient 
mariner brightly. "I’ll take care of the money end of 
things; you boys go see Sol Geyer about gittin’ his 
pound off’n him. Come in the house a second.” 

Grandpa Sennett took them into the kitchen, found 
his check book, and made out a check for twenty- 
five dollars, payable to Elmer. 

"Take that to Sol Geyer,” he said, "for a down 
payment, to sort of clinch the bargain. And tell 
him you want a lease for three years. That’ll be just 
as easy as askin’ for one year, and if you git along 
with this pound business you’ll want to keep on with 
it. If he agrees to that, you indorse the check over 
to him and tell him I’ll have the lease ready to sign 
in a day or two.” 

"How much should we pay, though?” 

"Oh, yes, I forgot that. Wal, it’s hard to say. I 
cal’late a hundred dollars a year ought to be all right. 
You’ll have to put a lot of repairs on to that pound, 
before you can use it; and it ain’t no earthly good to 
Sol, jest a bunch o’ posts for the gulls to roost on, 
that’s all. He’ll prob’ly jump at a hundred a year.” 

"Is it worth that?” said Elmer cautiously. 

"Sure as taxes,” returned the captain. "I know 
that there lobster pound like my pocket, an’ I 


TIT FOR TAT 


171 


wouldn’t be advisin’ ye to pay more’n it was worth, I 
can tell ye that. Same time, you fellers better take 
a look at it on your own hook, afore ye turn over any 
money, just so’s to be satisfied in your own minds.” 

The boys took the check and went back to the 
Nancy , Tom elated, but his brother again in doubt. 
Now that they were actually on the point of negoti¬ 
ating for the lobster pound, Elmer’s conservatism 
was tugging at him. There was no time to lose, and 
no doubt the pound was worth the money; on the 
other hand, he did not like to close with Geyer with¬ 
out his father’s knowledge and consent. And even if 
Henry Sennett telegraphed them — which he prob¬ 
ably would — they would not know his decision until 
the next day. 

"Quit hemming and hawing,” said Tom, and began 
to sweep the deck in preparation for the day’s busi¬ 
ness. "Give Bart enough cash to buy lobsters till we 
get back, and let’s take out for that pound. This is 
the time to do it, before Geyer goes off somewhere.” 

That turned Elmer. He gave Bart the cash bag 
and followed his impatient brother into the motor 
boat. 

"Good luck!” called Bart. 

"Same to you,” returned Tom. 

Off they went, heading north of Apple Island in 
the direction of the inlet where Sol Geyer had once 
kept a pound. The cove was noisy with motor boats, 
with here and there a man leaning over the side of 


172 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


one, busily hauling up a trap. Elmer steered a round¬ 
about course, intending to avoid all these lobstermen, 
lest they get some idea of what the boys had up their 
sleeve. One fisherman, however, they could not 
avoid. It was Ab York; he was hailing them. 

'Til stop a minute / 5 said Elmer, "but we 5 d better 
not say anything about the pound. We’ve got to 
clinch the bargain before it’ll be safe to let out any 
news about it.” 

"Sure,” nodded Tom. "Even your dumb brother 
knows that much.” 

The boat slackened down. They drifted up to 
York, a rough grizzled figure in wet oilskins. 

"Good morning,” said Elmer. "What’s on your 
mind?” 

"Somethin’ I heerd jest yesterday,” answered the 
lobsterman. "I un’erstand Fred Whipple is a-claimin’ 
you won’t be in the business very much longer. 
What’s he mean by that?” 

"Probably he thinks our lobsters are getting too 
crowded, and they’re going to die on us,” was the 
answer. 

"Wal, there’s somethin’ to that,” said York, with 
a worried face. "I don’t think so much of that 
pumpin’ water through the well. It may be all right 
as far as it goes, but jest the same . . .” 

"It’s worked so far,” Elmer reminded him, "and 
that’s all that’s necessary. We figure on moving the 
vessel to-morrow.” 


TIT FOR TAT 


173 


“That’s good. Even if it’s jest out into the cove 
and back, it’ll help. You jest about got a load, so 
purty soon you can take out for Portland. . . . 
Where you boys bound for, this mornin’?” 

“Just cruising around,” grinned Tom, and putting 
the engine back into gear he raised his voice above 
its roar: “Nice little cove you got here, mister. 
What’ll you take for it?” 

York waved and returned to his traps, and the 
boys went on their way. Presently they were out of 
sight of everyone that might be likely to spy on them, 
whereupon they made for the pound, glad that it was 
some distance from Geyer’s shack, so that they could 
examine it before they met its owner. 

“There it is!” exclaimed Tom. 

The pound itself was something of a surprise, 
and a pleasant one. It lay in the form of a narrow 
horseshoe, more than large enough for all the lob¬ 
sters that the Sennetts would be buying, and not in 
need of extensive repairs. The original makers of 
the pound had drawn a line across the mouth of the 
inlet, and along this line they had dug down through 
the mud to a depth of perhaps two feet. This had 
brought them to a layer of blue clay which was im¬ 
pervious to water, and on which they had then pro¬ 
ceeded to erect a wall of rocks and concrete, building 
it high enough to keep four or five feet of water in 
the pound when the tide was at its farthest ebb. Next 
they had driven posts inside this wall and at a dis- 


174 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


tance of ten feet from each other. Finally they had 
strung a picket fence against these posts, the pickets 
long enough to project some three feet above the 
water at high tide. 

“A few new posts and a couple of hundred pickets, 
and it’ll be in good shape,” declared Tom. 

"Yes, but that fence needs some straightening up, 
too. What do you think of the house?” 

One side of the fence ended in a kind of pier or 
wharf, on which stood a small wooden hut, evi¬ 
dently made to serve as a combination office and 
watch-house. The window had no panes, and the 
roof showed two or three holes; nevertheless, Tom 
approved. 

"Fine!” he exclaimed. "Now for Sol Geyer.” 

They cut off over a low ridge, struck a woods path, 
and came presently within sight of a small unpainted 
shack. 

"No smoke,” observed Tom, in a disappointed tone, 
"I don’t think he’s home. It’s chilly enough for a 
fire, a day like this.” 

"He’s snug,” declared the elder brother. "Rather 
be cold than use up wood, they say.” 

"All the better, then. If he’s as snug as that, a 
hundred dollars a year will look pretty good to 
him.” 

They knocked at the door, and Geyer came out. 
He was a wiry little man, with an enormous head, 
a shock of iron-gray hair, and a red handkerchief 



"Lease my lobster pound! H’m, that’s dif’rent, that’s dif’rent. 
What ye figger to do with it?’’ 



















TIT FOR TAT 


177 


knotted closely about his neck. Also he was untidy, 
and none too hospitable. 

“What you want?” he demanded, and kept hold 
of the door. 

“Can we talk to you a little while?” asked Elmer. 

“What about?” 

“Business.” 

The man stepped back from the door, and they 
went in. His house consisted of a single room, so 
crowded with broken chairs, cordage, lanterns, and 
dirty dishes that his visitors were soon wishing they 
had invited him outside, in spite of the chilly autumn 
air. Gingerly they sat down, Elmer beginning with¬ 
out delay: 

“We want to make you a proposition, Mr. Geyer.” 

A look of suspicion darted into the man’s face. 

“Hey!” he exclaimed, “you fellers ain’t a couple of 
them college boys that’s earnin’ your way through 
school, air ye? If ye air, I ain’t got no time for ye.” 

“No,” laughed Tom, “we want to lease your lobster 
pound.” 

“Lease my lobster pound! H’m, that’s dif’rent, 
that’s dif’rent. What ye figger to do with it?” 

“Keep lobsters in it.” 

“Um, yes, you could do that,” nodded Geyer. 
“Plenty of lobsters been in there, I cal’late. And 
money made on ’em, too, if you manage ’em right. 
Yes, sir, you fellers could maybe make a fortune with 
that pound o’ mine.” 


172 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


This was plainly a bid for a high price, but Elmer 
at once discouraged him. 

"We’re more likely to lose than make anything,” 
he said bluntly. "We’ll pay you a hundred dollars a 
year, that’s all we can afford.” 

"Not much!” objected the man, but when he saw 
that they would pay no more he weakened. At the 
end of half an hour of sharp bargaining he agreed to 
lease the pound for three years, at a yearly rental 
of one hundred dollars. In addition he agreed to let 
them repair the fence with sticks and logs taken from 
his woods, the boys to use his horse to drag the heavier 
timbers down to the mouth of the pound. Geyer 
protested that they were robbing him, yet his eyes 
glistened at the sight of the twenty-five-dollar check, 
and when Elmer indorsed it and handed it to him he 
quickly put it away, asking: "I still got seventy-five 
cornin’. When do I get that?” 

"Just as soon as you sign the lease. We’ll bring 
it over to-morrow.” 

The boys rose, told him they would probably be 
wanting his horse that afternoon, and left. 

"Now to go tell Bart and Grandpa,” said Tom, 
as they went back to their motor boat. 

Bart, however, told his news first. They found 
him reading a letter which some lobsterman had 
brought over from the post office, and as Elmer and 
Tom guessed, it was from his father. 

"He’s in Portsmouth,” Bart told them, "but he’s 


TIT FOR TAT 


179 


goin’ to the Isles o’ Shoals next week, to do some kind 
of work. Don’t tell anybody, will ye? Dad says he 
has to stay away until things blow over.” 

"What does he mean by that?” asked Tom curi¬ 
ously. 

"I don’t know,” and Bart began to tear the letter 
into fine bits. 

"Did he say anything about Osier?” said Elmer. 

"No, not a word. George Danforth did, though. 
He brought me my letter, and I guess he knew it was 
from my dad. Anyway, he got to talkin’ about Osier. 
People are gettin’ all nerved-up over his disappear¬ 
ance, an’ they say the sheriff is goin’ to make Cap’n 
McLain tell all he knows about it, an’ do somethin’. 
Well, I forgot! What did Sol Geyer say?” 

Thus reminded of the lobster pound, Tom gave 
him a digest of what had happened, while Elmer 
went up the path to report to Grandpa Sennett. The 
ancient mariner thumped his cane against the floor, 
to help demonstrate his satisfaction. 

"Sure he agreed to it!” he said. "Why in the 
name o’ common sense wouldn’t he?” 

Cap’n Len let them borrow an ax, a saw, and a 
bag of assorted nails, and after an early lunch Elmer 
and Bart went off to start repairing the lobster 
pound, Tom staying with the Nancy . Elmer esti¬ 
mated that they would need perhaps a dozen short 
logs, six or eight to act as posts along the concrete 
wall, and the others to brace up the little wharf where 


180 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


the shack stood. He went for Geyer’s horse, and 
they spent the rest of the day cutting hardwood trees, 
trimming them, hauling them down to the shore, and 
laboriously getting them in place. 

"I call it a good day’s work, myself,” said Bart, at 
quitting time. 

"So do I,” nodded Elmer. "To-morrow Tom and I 
can repair that fence, and brace it from the outside 
in one or two places, and we’ll be ready to move. 
The weather looks all right, so we can sleep in the 
shack a night or two as it is, and patch it up in our 
spare time.” 

The following morning the brothers again appeared 
on the scene, surprised, this time, to see that Sol 
Geyer was standing on the beach waiting for them. 
Moreover, he was wildly gesturing for them to keep 
away! 

"Out of his head,” observed Tom lightly. "That 
twenty-five dollars has turned his wits.” 

They got ashore, and at once Geyer hurried up to 
them, the check in his hand. 

"Take it back,” he barked. "I don’t want it. You 
can’t lease my pound.” 

"What’s wrong?” asked Elmer. 

"I can’t do it. You’ll have to take your money 
back, because I’ve changed my mind.” 

"You mean Fred Whipple’s changed it for you,” 
put in Tom. 

"That doesn’t make any difference,” countered the 
man. "Here’s your money back.” 


TIT FOR TAT 


181 


"It’s not our money, it’s yours,” said Elmer stoutly. 
”1 paid it to you before my brother as a witness. You 
agreed to lease us your pound, and you can’t go back 
on it.” 

"Take it, take it!” cried the excited man, and kept 
waving the check at them. "I don’t want to have 
anything to do with you.” 

"That last suits us to a T,” Tom told him. "Go 
away. We’re busy. Put your check in your sock, or 
cash it, we don’t care which.” 

"Get off my land,” jabbered Geyer, and suddenly 
started back for his house. "I’ll go get the sheriff, 
that’s what I’ll do.” 

"Do you think he will?” asked Tom. 

"No,” said the elder brother. "The law is on our 
side, not on his. He’s bluffing, he won’t be back.” 

And apparently Elmer was right. It looked as if 
Whipple had learned of the lease, and in some way 
had brought pressure to bear upon the owner of the 
pound. Geyer had probably tried to bluff his way 
out of the bargain, and, having failed, he would now 
leave them in peace. 

"Let’s finish our job,” suggested Elmer. "We can 
do it by noon, and have the lobsters in here before 
dark. We’ll bring the lease with us. Geyer’s got to 
sign it; he’s accepted our check.” 

Tom was rather worried about it all; nevertheless, 
he set to work. The fence was straightened and 
braced; then the boys cut a supply of oak pickets, 
perhaps an inch in thickness and two and a half 


182 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


inches wide. These they rapidly nailed into place 
at low water, and quit, tired but satisfied with the 
morning’s work. 

"Listen,” said Tom, on their way back to Grandpa 
Sennett’s. "Isn’t that the Nancy’s engine? Bart must 
be warming it up, getting ready to move ship.” 

"Well, I should say so!” exclaimed his brother, as 
they came closer. "They’ve started up the engine, 
and got out her sails, ready to h’ist.” 

All these preparations were heartening, and when 
the boys had told their grandfather about Geyer 
refusing the lease they were still further encouraged. 
For Cap’n Len promptly informed them that the 
man couldn’t refuse it. 

"Whipple’s put in his oar, all right,” said the old 
seaman, "but he’ll find it won’t do him any good. 
I’ve got the lease ready, and just as soon as ever your 
Uncle Joe comes to help, we’ll up on our canvas and 
away we’ll go, bound for Rio — or that lobster 
pound, anyway. There ain’t much difference, when 
you’ve been ashore as long as I have.” 

The three boys had dinner with Cap’n Len. The 
meal consisted of corned beef, boiled cabbage, and 
potatoes, and while this was hearty enough, Tom, 
from long habit, absently looked about for dessert. 

"Sorry,” said Grandpa, "I ain’t got nothin’ for 
dessert.” 

"Yes, you have, too!” exclaimed a voice at the door. 

It was Uncle Joe Gammage, waving a telegram at 


TIT FOR TAT 


183 


them: "This is from Henry, and he says to go ahead 
with the pound. He’s havin’ his smackman’s license 
changed over, to take care o’ that. Well, when do 
we move them lobsters?” 

"Right now!” cried the boys, springing up. "Hoo¬ 
ray, we’ll have them in that pound in no time at 
all.” 

"Provided the old Nancy can walk that far,” ob¬ 
served Uncle Joe. 

"I’ll show you how she can walk,” scolded Cap’n 
Len, and clapping on his hat he started down the 
path. "You fellers jest do like I tell ye, and ev¬ 
er’thing’ll go without a hitch, even if ye are a bunch 
o’ greenies.” 

Laughing and joking they followed him aboard, 
where with his cane as a symbol of authority he sol¬ 
emnly took charge. He moistened a forefinger and 
held it up. 

"Wind’s jest right,” he announced. "So’s the tide, 
if you fellers ain’t too plaguey slow a-takin’ orders.” 

"Give the word, Cap’n,” said Uncle Joe Gammage. 
"The engine’s ready.” 

"We ortn’t to have no tormented engine,” grum¬ 
bled Cap’n Len. "Ort to have jest sails. Well, cast 
off your bow line, and we’ll let her pay off.” 

Bart unfastened the hawser, and Elmer and Tom 
hauled it aboard. 

"Now up on that fores’l!” ordered Grandpa. "All 
together, you!” 


184 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


A shout, a rattle of hoops, and up went the sail. 
The vessel caught the wind and trembled to loo’ard, 
ready to go. 

"Cast off your stern line!” came the next com¬ 
mand, and when this was done, and the vessel was 
free, the captain shouted at them: "Now set the jib, 
an’ git at that mains’l.” 

"We don’t need the mains’l,” objected Uncle Joe. 

"Don’t, hey!” retorted the ancient mariner. "How 
many oceans have you poked your nose into, I’d like 
to know. We ort to have a stays’l, too, but I’m lettin’ 
that go. Jib an’ mains’l, you fellers!” 

He had his own way. Up went the canvas, belly¬ 
ing before the wind, and carrying them smoothly 
and easily out into the cove. Uncle Joe steered, 
Grandpa Sennett proudly beside him. The boys were 
eyeing Jard Kittredge, as he lay on their port bow, 
waiting for them in his motor boat. 

"You’re jest wastin’ your time!” he yelled at 
them. 

"Never mind!” Tom shouted back at him. "We 
like to ride!” 

Steadily they nosed on past him. Uncle Joe shifted 
his course. The lobster pound came in sight, at which 
the captain reluctantly ordered his crew to lower sail. 
They brought the vessel slowly up to the wharf, and 
there she rested, her brief voyage at an end. 

"Git away from there!” cried a voice. 

It was Sol Geyer, returning to the attack. He 


TIT FOR TAT 


185 


hurried up on the wharf and aboard the vessel, still 
with the check in his hand. 

"No use in you people a-tryin’ this,” he informed 
them. "I’m not leasin’ it to ye.” 

"Sol Geyer!” cried the captain, "you ort to be put 
in irons, and I’m sorry I didn’t do it that time I had 
ye under me, a-haulin’ wood up to Boston. You’re 
goin’ to sign this here lease, an’ keep still.” 

"I won’t do no such thing,” declared the other. 
"I’ve sent word to my son to come here an’ chase you 
off, so you better git out.” 

"Your son!” repeated the captain, and then a slow 
triumphant smile spread over his face. "The feller 
that lost his job there to Bath there a while back? 
Wal, I cal’late everybody knows that your son is 
the only thing in God’s world that yoti care anything 
about, so I figger I know a way to take your tail 
down a mite.” 

"What do you mean?” asked Geyer uneasily. 

"I mean he’ll lose his house if you don’t sign this 
lease,” said the ancient mariner, with an exaggerated 
scowl. "My cousin’s boy, Irving Smith, he holds 
the mortgage on your son’s place, and if I jest so much 
as lift ary finger I’ve got he’ll foreclose on ’im! You 
folks ain’t paid the interest or nothin’, so I guess he’ll 
have to git out.” 

"He ain’t paid it because he’s been out o’ work,” 
protested Geyer. 

"Yes, and he’ll be out o’ more’n that!” cried 


186 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Grandpa Sennett, with a pretended fierceness that 
came near sending the boys into a fit of laughter. 
"That son o’ your’n has been goin’ astern for quite 
a spell now, but it ain’t a circumstance to what’ll 
happen to him when that mortgage is foreclosed. 
He’ll be out in the cold, an’ they say it’s goin’ to 
be cold this winter, too. Ice an’ rain, and the wind 
a-blowin’ a livin’ gale, an 5 thick o’ snow, an’ him 
with his wife an’ four little children, with no place 
to go, how would ye like that! You ain’t got no 
money, except what we’re offerin’ ye for this pound, 
and besides that you’re lazy as a flounder anyhow, an’ 
couldn’t support ’em if they did come home on ye. 
Now will ye sign this lease, Sol, or do they go out 
in the snow an’ freeze theirself to death?” 

"I can’t sign,” pleaded Geyer. "I’d like to, but I 
can’t, Cap’n Len. I’m afraid to.” 

"What are you scairt of?” demanded the captain. 
"McLain an’ that crowd is after us, not you.” 

"Yes, I know, but . . .” 

With a compelling gesture Cap’n Len drew the 
lease from his pocket. He forced it into Geyer’s hand, 
and motioned for Elmer to give him a fountain pen. 

"Sign!” he thundered. "If ye don’t I’ll see to it 
that your son an’ his family is froze stiffer’n molasses 
in January, every last man of ’em! Sign that lease!” 

And Geyer signed it. 


Chapter Twelve 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


T here!” said Grandpa Sennett, as the last lobster 
was bailed out of the well and transferred to the 
pound. "That’s over an’ done, and a pity it is, too.” 

"A pity?” asked Tom. "Why a pity? I’m relieved, 
myself.” 

"You’re thinkin’ of lobsters, I’m thinkin’ of ships,” 
declared the old man. "What I meant was that now 
I’ll have to take nT vessel back to the wharf agin an’ 
tie her up; an’ this time, I cal’late, it’ll be for keeps. 
Of course she enjoyed this little v’y’ge to-day, but the 
Nancy is a good stout ship, an’ good for many a cruise 
yit, so it’s a tormented shame to haul her up an’ let 
her rot, or maybe be used for firewood, after I’m 
gone. That’s what sp’iles men an’ vessels both, bein’ 
tied up instead of used.” 

"It’s too bad we couldn’t have used her to carry 
lobsters to Portland,” said Elmer. 

Cap’n Len cast a look at the boys and Uncle Joe, 


187 


188 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


and seeing that they felt sorry for him, he cleared his 
throat and said hastily: 

"Yes, that’s what I said, an’ I mean it. Tyin’ up 
vessels an 5 men is what ruins ’em, so what’re you fel¬ 
lers gawkin’ at, I’d like to know. Joe, you climb 
aboard here an’ we’ll take the ship back home, an’ you 
boys better git settled here to the pound, in room 
o’ jest standin’ around like a set o’ booby birds. 
Git busy, you! I’ll see ye later, an’ good luck to ye!” 

The boys laughed and waved good-bye, and when 
the Nancy was well under way they turned to the 
task of getting settled. Everything was in a turmoil 
— bedding and cooking utensils scattered about the 
wharf, their hut sadly in need of what Grandpa Sen- 
nett would call a general overhauling, and no drinking 
water on hand — yet they did not mind. The big 
thing, the chief and all-important thing, was that the 
lobsters were safely in their new quarters. Nothing 
else really mattered. 

"We’ll call it a picnic, an’ let it go at that,” said 
Bart. 

"Sure,” Tom chuckled, pulling the oil stove out 
from under a pile of blankets. "That’s the way to 
look at it. Elmer, who’ll stay here to-night with Bart, 
you or I?” 

Elmer preferred to go home to make sure their 
mother was not worrying, and accordingly he went 
to a near-by spring for a bucket of water, helped his 
brother and Bart start supper, and set out. 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


189 


"Bring a hammer and nails with you to-morrow!” 
Tom called after him. 

"All right. What else?” 

"Some beans from the store. And a loaf of bread.” 

By this time it was growing dark, and before Tom 
and Bart had finished supper it was completely so. 
They lit a lantern, sorted out their blankets, and 
went to bed. 

It was a case of early to bed and late to rise, for 
the tardy autumnal sun was up before they stirred, 
and they were still at breakfast when the popping 
of a motor boat announced Elmer. He had a boatful 
of supplies, and soon all three of the boys were busily 
continuing the task of getting settled. Tom nailed 
up their sign, Bart patched the worst of the holes 
in the roof, Elmer inspected the pound and made sure 
that the lobsters were not going to be able to get out 
through the picket fence. 

"What about feeding them?” he asked. 

"Fresh herring is what we’ll need for that,” said 
Tom, vigorously moving things about inside the hut. 
"Lobsters don’t eat much, so they didn’t need any¬ 
thing those few days they were in the Nancy , but if 
we’re holding them in a pound for a long time they’ll 
have to be fed.” 

"Thanks for the information,” retorted the elder 
brother. "I knew all that about two years before 
you did. What I meant was, where shall we get 
herring?” 


190 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


“We can catch ’em ourselves,” said Bart quickly. 
“I’ve got my dad’s nets, if one of you fellows can help 
me haul, now and then.” 

“Fine,” nodded Tom. “Well, folks, we’re just 
about settled, I’d say. Now to see how the world 
takes it.” 

The world, that is to say, the people of their 
world, took it variously. A ripple of talk ran round 
the shores of Pelly’s Cove at the news that the Sen- 
netts had leased the old Geyer lobster pound. Jard 
Kittredge predicted utter failure for the boys, and 
Whipple, though he said nothing in public, smiled 
even more broadly than before. Most of the fisher¬ 
men, on the other hand, were favorably impressed. 
Uncle Joe Gammage persuaded some half dozen lob- 
sterman from the East Boothbay district to sell to the 
new pound, while closer at home fully a third of the 
fishermen were now patronizing the boys. Even 
grave, hard-working Raymond Poland, who never 
believed in taking sides in a dispute, even Raymond 
began to sell his catch to the Sennetts, taking his 
money and departing without a word. 

Then one day McLain paid them a visit. Fred 
Whipple brought him over in his motor boat, stop¬ 
ping within a few feet of the wharf for a frank in¬ 
spection of the premises. All three of the boys were 
there that day; they came out of the hut and stood 
watching the visitors, glad that McLain and his 
henchman were staying in their boat. There was an 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


191 


exchange of guarded hostile glances, then the captain 
of the smack broke into abrupt laughter. 

"Any more of you around?” he inquired. 

"No,” said Elmer evenly. "Just the three of us. 
Why?” 

"Oh, nothin’. I jest like to know who I’m up 
against, that’s all. Three infants runnin’ a pound, 
an’ Sennett workin’ along the coast tryin’ to stir 
up the lobstermen to go to Augusta about the bond 
law, is that it?” 

"Yes, that’s it.” 

"Had any reports from your dad lately?” con¬ 
tinued McLain. "Everything goin’ fine, I s’pose.” 

"Couldn’t be better,” said Tom, growing warm in 
spite of himself. "He’ll be in Portland around the 
first of the month; maybe you can ask him your¬ 
self.” 

This brought a grin to Bart’s face, and Whipple 
noticed it. The lobster buyer nudged McLain, and 
McLain turned his attention to young Randall: 

"So you’re in on this, too, are you?” 

"I certainly am,” answered Bart with an unfriendly 
look. 

"And you still don’t know where your father is?” 

"I know, yes.” 

"Where is he?” 

"I won’t tell you.” 

Rage flashed into McLain’s face. He looked about 
the motor boat, as if seeking something to throw. 


192 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Then he glanced over the side. A jellyfish was floating 
close. Suddenly plunging down with his hand the 
smack captain seized the soft mushy thing and hurled 
it at Bart. The boy dodged, and the jellyfish struck 
the side of the hut and fell to the wharf. 

''That’ll be enough of that,” said Elmer, frown¬ 
ing. "We’re not going to stand much more from 
you. 

"When I find out where your father is,” McLain 
was growling at Bart, "I’ll make him wish he’d be¬ 
haved himself.” 

"You fellows had better move on,” said Elmer 
firmly. 

"We’ll move on,” answered the smack captain, in 
a thick voice, "but before we do I’m tellin’ ye some¬ 
thin’. You people seem to want to turn this into a 
reg’lar war, so that’s what it’s goin’ to be. I’m not 
givin’ ye any further notice, either.” 

Fred Whipple got the boat going, and they moved 
off, Tom eyeing them with new suspicion. 

"Look at the way McLain’s rubbing his hand,” he 
muttered. "That’s the hand he threw that jellyfish 
with.” 

The elder brother turned to the slimy thing. He 
stirred it with his foot, his face grim. 

"Bart,” he said, as he kicked the thing back into 
the water, "that’s one of those poisonous sun-jellies. 
If it had ever hit you in the face, there’d have been 
so many stings on you we would have had to take you 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


193 


to the hospital. I thought at first it was one of the 
harmless kind; I didn’t think anybody would be mean 
enough to throw one of those things.” 

"That’s about the scurviest trick I ever heard of,” 
declared Tom. "Well, Bart, you don’t seem to mind 
much.” 

"It missed me, that’s the main thing,” was the an¬ 
swer. "What do you suppose he’s up to now?” 
"Who?” 

"McLain. Didn’t you hear what he said about 
makin’ it war?” 

"Yes, I wonder what he meant by that,” said El¬ 
mer. "We’ll soon find out, I suppose.” 

The nature of the Ring’s newest offensive, however, 
the boys were rather tardy in discovering. Next 
morning Whipple announced that he was now paying 
seventeen cents a pound for lobsters. The Sennetts 
at once began to pay twenty cents. The following 
day Whipple offered nineteen cents, and the boys 
gave twenty-two, in accordance with their policy of 
paying three cents more than the Ring. They thought 
nothing of these advances in price, for until the Ring 
got control of the market the price had normally 
gone up every fall; the rise at this time simply con¬ 
vinced the three pound-keepers that their competition 
was forcing the price back to normal. 

"No, it ain’t that at all,” declared Grandpa Sen- 
nett, toiling over to the pound one afternoon. "Mc¬ 
Lain’s fightin’ ye with prices, aimin’ to dreen ye dry 


194 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


as a puffball in a pasture. Don’t ye worry, though. 
What money your father can’t raise, I can. You boys 
go ahead.” 

"Oh, sure,” said Elmer, "but why didn’t we hear 
about this from some of the lobstermen? Nobody’s 
said a word to us about it.” 

"Lobstermen is jest like everybody else,” grumbled 
the captain. "They think about their own hide first. 
A price war like this one means they keep gittin’ more 
for their lobsters, and that’s what they want.” 

The boys were inclined to doubt Grandpa’s analysis 
of the situation, yet it was not long before they saw 
he was right. Every day the price of lobsters went 
up, sometimes a cent, sometimes two cents. The fish¬ 
ermen brought in their catch earlier than usual, ex¬ 
plaining, with weatherbeaten smiles, that the traps 
came up easier since prices were better. At length 
Whipple was paying thirty cents, and the Sennetts 
thirty-three, whereupon Ab York stopped to talk to 
the pound-keepers about it. 

"Look, now,” he said. "These prices is fine for us 
fishermen, but I been wonderin’ if Henry’s pocket- 
book can stand it. How about it, boys?” 

"I was just going to talk to you about that,” con¬ 
fessed Elmer. 

"Your dad ain’t goin’ broke, is he?” said York 
hastily. 

"No, not exactly. We’ve got plenty of money 
behind us, but here’s something Bart and Tom and I 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


195 


have thought of that nobody else seems to have, not 
even Grandpa. There’s enough money to let us keep 
on buying, but if the price goes much higher it’ll be 
higher than the market warrants, and in that case we 
may lose money when we finally sell out the pound. 
That means that Father will end by being ruined, 
especially if we have to keep on buying till Christ¬ 
mas at higher and higher prices.” 

"Wal, wal,” said York, "we don’t want that to 
happen. Henry ort to have a dif’rent kind of a re¬ 
ward than that, for tryin’ to help the fishermen. 
What can we do about it, boys?” 

"My idea is this,” began Elmer. 

"Your idea!” cried Tom. "I guess Bart and I had 
a hand in that.” 

"All right, our idea, then,” continued Elmer. "It 
doesn’t make any difference. The point is that we 
were just about to ask you to call a meeting of the 
lobstermen, so we can explain a scheme we’ve got.” 

"A meetin’ here at the pound, you mean?” 

"Yes. We’ll put up a sign, and you and some of 
the others can maybe spread the word. Tell them it’s 
important, and that if they don’t come and help us, 
maybe we can’t keep on buying. I guess that’ll bring 
them.” 

"Cal’late it will,” grunted Ab York, "even them 
that gin’rally figgers on sleepin’ the minute they git 
home from haulin’ their traps. What time shall we 
make this meetin’?” 


196 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"The sooner the better. How about Wednesday 
at four o’clock in the afternoon? That’ll give every¬ 
one a chance to haul his traps, go home for dinner, 
and get back here in plenty of time.” 

Wednesday was agreed upon, and at once the boys 
put up an announcement. Every fisherman who came 
with lobsters had his attention called to it, and was 
asked to tell others. 

"Just what’s it about?” many wanted to know, but 
they got very little satisfaction. 

"Something important, if you want to keep on 
selling us lobsters,” the boys would say. "Everybody 
should be here.” 

They could not, of course, expect everybody, or 
even every one of the fishermen who were now bring¬ 
ing their lobsters to the pound. Nevertheless, it was 
evident by Wednesday noon that at least two dozen 
would put in an appearance. Uncle Joe brought his 
usual quota from East Boothbay, Ab York and 
George Danforth brought friends from Pelly’s Cove, 
while others came singly, curious to know what 
"Henry Sennett’s boys” were up to. The boats lay 
about in front of the pound, the men talking lobsters 
and commenting upon the weather. It was a crisp, 
clear day, the woods still bright with color, and 
goldenrod and aster still dotting the bare fields. Not 
for years had fall weather held fine so long. 

Shortly before four o’clock Elmer found himself 
faced with the necessity of making the speech of the 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


197 


day. Tom refused the honor, as did Ab York. In 
embarrassment Elmer went to Uncle Joe Gammage, 
and asked him to act as spokesman. 

"You know what we’ve got in mind,” the boy 
told him, "'and I’d feel queer getting up before all 
these men, and telling ’em things. Can’t you take 
charge?” 

"Why, sure, sure,” said Uncle Joe, and turning to 
the crowd he called out: "Well, I’ve been asked to 
call this here meetin’ to order, so let’s do it. Elmer’s 
got somethin’ to say to ye. . . . All right, Elmer, 
step right up here, an’ tell ’em.” 

Blushing furiously, and with a reproachful look 
toward Uncle Joe, the boy stepped forward and be¬ 
gan: 

"I — well, I don’t know exactly how to say it,” he 
stammered, "but maybe I can give you the gist of it.” 

"That’s all we want,” put in Sam Murray, squat¬ 
ting on the rocky shore like an Indian. "Go ahead, 
lad.” 

With this by way of encouragement Elmer con¬ 
tinued, his voice gradually clearer, and his thoughts 
more orderly. 

"It’s this way,” he told them. "We’re trying to 
break up the Lobster Ring and get free competition 
and good prices for everybody. Father’s sort of or¬ 
ganizing the fishermen in other places, and we’re 
buying here at the pound. So far we’ve got along 
pretty well, but now we’re getting into a price war. 


198 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


To-day Whipple paid thirty-three cents, and we paid 
thirty-six. That’s fine for you lobstermen, but it’s 
not so good for us, because thirty-six cents a pound is 
more than the Portland market would pay us for our 
lobsters, and that means that we’ve begun to pay out 
more money than we’ll get back. Isn’t that so?” 

"Yes,” answered one of the Littlefields, "but the 
Portland price will prob’ly be goin’ up more, this 
time of year.” 

"Not as fast as the Ring is raising their price here 
in Pelly’s Cove,” said Elmer. "From the way things 
are going they figure on making us pay more than 
we’ll ever get back, and more than they’ll get, too.” 

"Dunno about that,” objected Ed Knipe. "Them 
fellers in the Ring surely wouldn’t pay more than 
they’d get back out of their lobsters.” 

"Of course they would!” insisted Elmer. "They 
wouldn’t mind that, because they’d be forcing us to 
take a loss, and their own loss here in Pelly’s Cove 
they could make up for by their profits in other 
places along the coast.” 

A nodding of heads told Elmer that this argument 
was carrying weight with his audience. He went on: 

"So if things go on like this my father may lose so 
much money that he won’t be able to run the pound 
another year. In the meantime the bond law may be 
repealed, but if it isn’t, then our pound here will be 
all the competition the Ring will have in the cove, 
and without the pound you’ll all be at the mercy of 


SAY IT WITH PRICES 


199 


the Ring again. What Fm driving at is that this price 
war can hurt all of you, as well as us.” 

He paused long enough to allow this danger to pene¬ 
trate to the minds of the fishermen, then he played 
his trump card. 

"There’s only one way to prevent that,” he de¬ 
clared, "and that’s for you people to agree to take, 
say, thirty cents a pound for your lobsters until this 
price war is over. At thirty cents we can meet ex¬ 
penses, take care of losses, and have a good chance of 
breaking even when we sell. That protects us. From 
your side of it I think thirty cents is a fair price; it’s 
more than you ever got at this time of year before, 
anyhow since the Ring got in control. Of course as 
soon as the Ring stops fighting us by raising prices 
higher than the market justifies, why we’ll pay what¬ 
ever is right. I guess you know my father is not in 
this business to get rich; he’s simply trying to earn a 
decent living, and let you others do the same. What 
do you say to thirty cents for the time being? Is it 
a bargain?” 

The popping of a motor boat distracted the atten¬ 
tion of the meeting just then. It was Nat Gilbert, 
coming late. He shut off his engine, drifted up, and 
presently joined the crowd. Elmer’s proposal went 
the rounds, some of the fishermen clearly in favor of 
accepting it, others reluctant, a few declaring against 
it. The boys took note of these reactions, Tom whis¬ 
pering to his brother: 


200 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Enough of them are in favor of it for us to go 
ahead with it.” 

"I think so, too,” added Bart. 

"Well,” said Elmer, lifting his voice, "I think there’s 
a majority in favor of taking thirty cents, until this 
price war stops. Do I hear any objections?” 

Here and there a mutter of dissent was audible, 
but no one was willing to come out openly against a 
proposal which was so obviously fair and honest. El¬ 
mer waited a moment, and then, in response to a 
slight nod from Uncle Joe he said: 

"All right, we’ll pay thirty cents a pound from 
now on, until Whipple stops fighting us.” 

The meeting broke up, most of the men going away 
as silently as they had come and listened. The fisher¬ 
men of Pelly’s Cove were, for the most part, non¬ 
committal and even taciturn, so that it would be 
some time before their opinion of the "thirty-cent 
price” would be fully known. Only one flurry of 
excited talk broke the quietness of the disbanding 
crowd. Nat Gilbert was surrounded by five or six 
lobstermen, all of whom were asking him questions 
about something. 

"What’s that?” demanded Bart, catching the drift 
of their talk. "McLain’s sworn out a warrant for my 
father?” 

"Yes, that’s right,” admitted Gilbert reluctantly. 

"For what!” exclaimed Bart. "What’s the charge?” 

"Murderin’ Pete Osier.” 


Chapter Thirteen 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


I T was shocking news that Bart’s father was wanted 
on a charge of murder, and yet the boys soon re¬ 
covered from the blow, even Bart himself. All three 
of them agreed that it was nonsense. The disappear¬ 
ance of Pete Osier had given rise to gossip, and this 
had at last obliged McLain to take a stand on the 
question. Whereupon he had proceeded to kill two 
birds with one stone: by swearing out a warrant 
against Randall he had indulged his spite against a 
man he apparently hated, and at the same time he had 
diverted public attention from the suspicion that 
Osier had met disaster while carrying out McLain’s 
orders to destroy Henry Sennett’s lobster traps. 

'"There’s nothin’ to it,” declared Bart that eve¬ 
ning. 

"Just a bluff,” added Tom. 

"Yes, I think so, too,” said Elmer deliberately. "I 
wish this price war didn’t have any more founda- 


201 


202 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


tion to it than that murder charge against Bart’s 
father.” 

In the matter of the price war, however, the boys 
were due for a pleasant surprise. Probably it had 
never been merely a bluff, but within a week it 
stopped. On the day following the mass meeting at 
the pound, Whipple put his price up to thirty-five 
cents, but there it remained. Some one must have 
told him that the Sennetts were henceforth paying 
only thirty, and when it became apparent to Whipple 
that the pound was getting lobsters in spite of this 
lower figure, the local representative of the Ring 
seemed to realize that the "war” was now pointless. 
Two days later Whipple’s price dropped to twenty- 
five cents. 

"Down ten cents a pound, all at once?” demanded 
Tom, when Ab York reported it. "Well, that cer- 
tainly proves they were trying to break us.” 

"Yes, he come down,” said York, almost regret¬ 
fully. "Now what’ll you boys pay?” 

"Twenty-eight, until he changes again,” answered 
Elmer. "I think the Portland market must be mov¬ 
ing up, though, from what Father writes us; and if 
that’s so, then we’ll all be paying more pretty soon. 
We have no objections to paying thirty or even thirty- 
five or forty cents a pound, if the market justifies it.” 

York went away, Tom nodding after him: "Well, 
that’s that. Now what have we got to think about?” 

"Herring,” said the elder brother promptly. 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


203 


"What’s that? Are we out of lobster feed?” 

"Absolutely. Our lobsters haven’t been fed since 
Monday. We’ve all been too busy with this price 
war.” 

"I thought of it yesterday,” said Bart, "but I knew 
neither one of you wanted to go with me. Let’s go 
for some right now.” 

Elmer got ready to go with him. Lobsters in a 
pound are generally fed about twice a week, and the 
last of their herring had been used up four days ago. 
The two boys got their drag seine and went up the 
cove in the motor boat, confidently expecting to 
haul in at least ten or twenty bushels of herring. 

And for some strange reason they got no more than 
a double handful! Bart threw down the end of the 
seine in exasperation. 

"What do you know about that? Last time we got 
plenty, and this time nothing at all.” 

"It’s the same as nothing at all, as far as we’re con¬ 
cerned,” said Elmer. "I figure a bushel will more than 
feed our lobsters for a day, but this is a long way 
from a bushel, and then there’s to-morrow and the 
next day to think about. What’s happened, do you 
s’pose? Have they left the cove? Maybe it’s getting 
too late in the fall for them.” 

"No,” was Bart’s emphatic reply. "There’s herrin’ 
in here — if we knew where to drag for ’em. I guess 
I don’t know as much about fishin’ as I thought I 

did.” 


204 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"They may have left the cove,” insisted Elmer, 
helping stow the seine into the stern of their motor 
boat. 

"No, because Cheever is still gettin’ plenty. I 
noticed him haulin’ a dory load down toward the 
sardine factory just a couple o’ days ago.” 

"Well, then we can buy some of him. Let’s go get 
some gas and take out for the weir.” 

Accordingly they made for Whipple’s pier, notic¬ 
ing, as they came close, that he had adopted the 
practice of scrawling the daily price of lobsters on a 
board, with the word "cash” underlined. The boys 
came alongside in some embarrassment, but the lob¬ 
ster buyer appeared to be as friendly as ever. They 
had defeated him in the price war; nevertheless, he 
smiled at them, and even joked about their recent 
contest. 

"Everybody’s happy now, I caHate,” he said, and 
took the money for five gallons of gasoline. "Prices 
down to where they ort to be, an’ no hard feelin’s, 
eh? Why should there be? There’s plenty of lob¬ 
sters in Pelly’s Cove, plenty for both of us. The main 
thing is not to fight over ’em.” 

"You’re right,” said Elmer, and with this brief 
answer he steered away in the direction of Cheever’s 
weir. When he was certain of not being overheard 
he turned to Bart: "What do you think of what 
Whipple said? Do you think he’s made up his mind 
to treat us right?” 


V 



"Everybody's happy now, 


I cal’late." 













































LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


207 


Bart shook his head. His life had been a hard one, 
and as the result of frequent knocks and disappoint¬ 
ments he had grown wary. 

"Don’t you believe it,” he advised. "Whipple will 
never change. He feels just the same, and with him 
talkin’ so smooth as he did to-day we ought to be on 
our guard more than ever.” 

"Maybe you’re right. . . . Hello, there’s Cheever 
now.” 

They appeared across the cove. Sime Cheever was 
returning home from the direction of the sardine 
factory, towing a dory behind his motor boat. Also, 
the dory was low in the water. 

"That dory’s loaded,” observed Bart. "What’s that 
mean, didn’t he sell his herrin’ to the factory? They’re 
runnin’ full tilt down there. I don’t understand 
it.” 

The mystery was soon explained. Cheever had tied 
up by the time the boys got to his wharf, and at a 
glance they saw that the dory did not contain fresh 
herring, but only the heads and attached intestines 
of herring. These were refuse from the sardine fac¬ 
tory, which he had evidently hauled home to use as 
fertilizer on his barren fields. 

"Morning,” nodded Elmer, climbing to the top of 
the wharf. 

Cheever had seen them approach, and had paid no 
attention. Nor did he reply to Elmer’s greeting. He 
gave the boys a brief stare, no more. 


208 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I want to buy some lobster feed/’ continued El¬ 
mer. "Have you got any herring on hand?” 

"No.” 

"Well, can’t you get some out of the weir?” 

"Not for you, I can’t.” 

"What, you won’t sell us any?” 

"No, I won’t. Git out.” 

The boys gazed at him in dismay. Then they re¬ 
membered what the press of other matters had caused 
them to forget. Cheever looked upon them as en¬ 
emies; he hated them, Elmer because the Sennets had 
crossed him upon other occasions, Bart because the 
boy’s father was said to be responsible for the death 
of Pete Osier, who was Cheever’s nephew. Added 
to that, the weir-keeper was friendly to the Ring. 

"Look here,” said Elmer, still unable to believe that 
the man would refuse them, "we’ve got to have a 
few bushels of herring for our lobsters. Why can’t 
you sell us some?” 

"Oh, you’ve got to have herrin’?” asked Cheever, 
with a crafty face. 

Bart tugged at his friend’s sleeve, but Elmer could 
not see what the weir-keeper was driving at. The 
boy simply thought that if Cheever knew they had 
to have herring, he would be decent enought to fur¬ 
nish them. So he answered, frankly: 

"Yes, we have. We can’t seem to get any with the 
seine any more.” 

"So you depend on mel” scowled Cheever, and 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


209 


when Elmer at last saw that he had made a fatal ad¬ 
mission, and was silent, the weir-keeper continued: 
"I’m glad to know that, because HI git jest that much 
more satisfaction out of refusin’ ye.” 

They took a last look at his venomous face and de¬ 
cided that it was useless. Back down the ladder they 
went, and into their boat. Elmer got the engine go¬ 
ing, and was standing up to steer when Cheever called 
to them from the top of the wharf: 

"Hey, hold on a minute. Shut off your engine.” 

Elmer turned the switch. The boys gazed up at 
him, puzzled to know what had come over him. He 
seemed to have changed his mind, and to be more 
friendly, or at least less hostile. 

"I ain’t got no use for you fellers, an’ never will,” 
Cheever growled at them, "but if you want to pay 
me a dollar a bushel for these here herrin’ heads I 
got in m’ dory, I’ll let ye have ’em.” 

"Herring heads?” exclaimed Elmer. "I never heard 
of feeding lobsters such stuff as that.” 

"Best lobster feed in the world,” said Cheever. 
"The head’s just as much herrin’ as the rest of it, 
ain’t it? Make up your mind.” 

That was what Elmer was trying to do. He re¬ 
membered that lobsters eat many kinds of sea food, 
and of course there was very little difference between 
whole herring and herring heads with intestines. A 
dollar a bushel was twice as much as lobster feed ought 
to cost, but perhaps that explained Cheever’s will- 


210 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


ingness to sell: the man would probably get satisfac¬ 
tion from exacting too high a price from them. 

"What do you think?” Elmer asked Bart. 

"Looks all right to me.” 

"All right,” Elmer told the weir-keeper. "Ell take 
two bushels, and if the lobsters eat it we’ll come 
back to-morrow, for some more.” 

"Better take more than two bushels, while you’re 
here,” advised Cheever. 

"No, we want to try it out first.” 

He measured out two bushels, and the boys paid 
him and went back to the pound. There they dumped 
in both baskets of the bloody mess, Tom declaring 
that the lobsters were one day behind on their feed, 
and therefore needed a double meal. 

Still without the slightest suspicion of what they 
had done, the boys went into the hut for dinner, 
and paid no further attention to the lobsters. Every¬ 
thing seemed all right until the next day. The tide 
went out as usual, and then by mere chance Elmer 
noticed that a great many of their lobsters had crawled 
out on the rocks which the ebbing water had tempo¬ 
rarily left bare. That struck him as odd, for it is in¬ 
stinctive in these creatures to conceal themselves. On 
a calm summer evening it is often possible to see lob¬ 
sters close to the shore, half concealed as they lie in 
wait for a fish or a crab, but that never happens late 
in the fall. And this was the first week in October. 

"What do you make of that?” asked Elmer, call¬ 
ing to Tom and Bart to come and look. 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


211 


"Haven’t any idea,” said Tom. 

Neither had Bart, though he had a feeling that 
they ought to find out about it as soon as possible. 
"We’ll ask the first lobsterman that comes past,” he 
suggested. 

The afternoon was already far along, and most of 
the fishermen had already been in with their catch. 
Uncle Joe Gammage, however, had hauled his traps 
and gone over to see Mrs. Sennett, and about half 
past four he came chugging back toward the pound. 
The boys hailed him, and he turned in. 

"I was goin’ to stop anyway,” he said, as he tied 
up. "Tommie, you and Elmer ought to go see your 
grandfather, he ain’t feelin’ well.” 

"One of us’ll go spend the evening with him,” 
promised Elmer, and told the story of the lobsters 
that had crawled out on the rocks. "Do you think 
anything’s the matter with them, Uncle Joe?” 

Uncle Joe Gammage took one look, not at the lob¬ 
sters, but at the surface of the water in the pound. 
Despite the movement of the tide the area behind the 
picket fence was thick with grease and blood. 

"Jumpin’ fishhooks!” he exclaimed. "What have 
ye been doin’ to them lobsters?” 

"Nothing, except feeding them.” 

"Feedin’ ’em what?” 

"Herring heads,” and they explained how they had 
come by them. 

"That’s what’s done it,” declared Uncle Joe. "Her¬ 
rin’ heads like that ain’t nothin’ but gurry. You 


212 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


shouldn’t of fed them lobsters such truck. Anyway, 
you give ’em too much, and you should have spread it 
around more, in room of jest dumpin’ it. Them lob¬ 
sters has come pretty near bein’ poisoned, I tell ye 
that straight.” 

"Cheever did that on purpose,” murmured Elmer, 
in his slow heavy way. 

There was no reason for doubting it. Lobsters are 
clean animals, and rather than live in filthy or con¬ 
taminated water they will crawl out onto the shore. 
Cheever had certainly known this, and had taken 
advantage of their ignorance and inexperience to sell 
them feed that would make their lobsters sick. 

"Do you think they’ll get over it, Uncle Joe?” 
asked Tom, as he stared at the lobsters. 

"Oh, I reckon so, pervided you don’t do it again. 
They’ll come out of it. Well, I got to be movin’. Oh, 
by the way, your mother had a letter from your dad 
to-day. He’s up at South Harpswell, and cornin’ 
home in a day or two. Not for long, jest for a little 
visit, to see how things is gittin’ along.” 

"To see how things are getting along!” exclaimed 
Tom, when the boys were alone again. "That’s great 
about Dad coming home, but we can’t let him find us 
poisoning the lobsters, or starving them, either. We’ve 
got to do something.” 

But what were they to do? It was a problem. 
They needed fresh herring without delay, and beyond 
the assurance that he wouldn’t trust Sime Cheever 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


213 


any farther than he could throw a nine-year-old cow 
by the tail, Uncle Joe had given them no help what¬ 
ever. In another month or so their lobsters would be¬ 
gin to retire into the mud at the bottom of the pound, 
and after that they would require no food. Until 
then, however, food was a necessity. 

'Til tell you what I’ve decided/ 5 said Tom the 
next morning. "There's no reason why Cheever 
shouldn’t sell us fresh herring, so I 5 m going there and 
demand it. I 5 11 take Bart with me. 55 

"Not much, 55 said the elder brother quickly. "You 
and Bart would end up by getting in a fight with 
him. 55 

"All right, what shall we do, then? 55 

"Well, if you think you could wheedle him into 
selling you some lobster feed, you might go alone. 
Keep hold of your temper, though. 55 

"I’ll keep hold of my temper, 55 declared Tom, mak¬ 
ing for the boat, "and I’ll come back with fresh her¬ 
ring, in the bargain. 55 

Off he went, shifting into high and roaring over 
the water toward Cheever 5 s place. Halfway there he 
swerved, for the man was not at the wharf but at his 
weir, back up the cove a little way. Cheever had 
built the weir himself. Supplied with a large number 
of long sticks, chiefly willow shoots and the like, he 
had repeatedly gone out at low tide to drive them 
down into the muddy bottom, close together, and in 
the form of a circle thirty feet in diameter. At the 


214 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


upper side there was a narrow opening in this circle, 
the sticks turning back and out from the opening, 
and running off into the water as wing fences, or 
leaders. The weir acted as a trap: herring went up 
the cove with the tide, but when the returning water 
swept them back down a great many fish struck the 
wing fences and worked down into the circle, where 
from the pressure of the tide, and also their own 
stupidity, they kept milling round and round, with¬ 
out finding their way out. Tom came up just as 
Cheever was pushing into the entrance of the weir 
in his dory, about to take out his catch. 

"What do you want?” demanded the man. 

"Lobster feed,” said Tom, "but I want fresh her¬ 
ring this time.” 

Cheever went on with his work, the boy waiting 
for him to finish. The weir-keeper began to put down 
a purse seine, slowly pulling himself along the in¬ 
side of the stick inclosure, while the herring boiled 
and flipped away from him. In a few minutes the 
seine had encircled the fish, cork floats holding up 
one edge of it, lead weights holding down the other. 
Next Cheever pulled the cord which ran down and 
around the lower edge of the seine, with the result 
that it was drawn tight, purse-fashion. The herring 
were now in a bag or pocket, and ready to be bailed 
out. 

"Want any help?” asked Tom. 

"You keep out o’ here.” 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


215 


It was actually a job for two men, but Cheever re¬ 
fused to let the boy help him. Fastening the upper 
edge of the seine to his dory, the weir-keeper gradu¬ 
ally hauled in on it until he had lifted the herring 
rather thickly to the surface. Then he bailed them 
into the dory, the silvery fish flipping until their scales 
began to fall off. The dory sank lower and lower with 
the weight of the fish. At last Cheever halted. He 
brought the dory out of the weir and made it fast to 
the stern of his motor boat. 

"How about a few bushels of those herring?” asked 
Tom. 

Without a word Cheever got his engine going, and 
started for his wharf, Tom resentfully behind him. 
He had hoped that the man would be reasonable, 
but apparently was too much to expect. Tom 
resolved to make one more attempt, and let it go at 
that. 

"I want some fresh herring,” he said to Cheever. 
"How much will you sell them for?” 

"A hundred dollars a bushel, to you,” answered 
the weir-keeper. "Other fellers git ’em for fifty 
cents.” 

Swallowing his rage, the boy silently pointed his 
boat off into the cove. He was angry and he was 
humiliated, for he had left the pound with such con¬ 
fidence in his ability to get herring, and now he would 
have to go back without them. Utterly baffled, he 
sat in the boat, scowling and thinking. And then 


216 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


all at once he pulled back on the steering lever, bring¬ 
ing the boat sharply to port as he shouted gleefully: 

"Beauchamp’s sardine factory! I’ll get those her¬ 
ring yet!” 

The factory was two miles down the cove, and the 
nearer Tom came to it the more certain he was that 
he was due to take a load of fish back to the pound. 
Mr. Beauchamp he knew very well, indeed Tom had 
taught his son Philip how to row a boat, on the oc¬ 
casion of Philip’s visit to Pelly’s Cove several years be¬ 
fore. A large proportion of Cheever’s herring were 
sold to Beauchamp, who in turn canned them and 
sold them as sardines, there being no true sardines in 
American waters. Tom tied up at the wharf and 
went into the factory: the herring were automatically 
carried past women who cleaned them and cut off 
their heads, after which the fish were washed, sorted, 
packed in cans, cooked, and labeled. The owner of 
the factory was standing near the machine that 
noisily did the sealing, and when Tom appeared he 
nodded and motioned for him to come to the pack¬ 
ing shed, where they would not be disturbed by the 
racket of the machinery. 

"How are you, Tom?” said Mr. Beauchamp 
heartily. 

"Fine, thanks, how are you? Still taking one kind 
of herring and calling them different names, like Sea 
Shell, Ocean Maid, ’Way Down East, and half a dozen 
other things?” 


LOBSTERS MUST EAT 


217 


They laughed together, the owner of the factory 
protesting: 

"It isn’t as bad as it sounds, Tom. We pack them 
in different kinds of oil, or sauces, and you know a 
change of names pleases people, without doing them 
any harm. By the by, what’s this I hear about you 
boys going into the lobster business?” 

Tom told him what had happened, ending with 
their difficulty in getting lobster feed, and the set-to 
with Sime Cheever. 

"What a scurvy way to act,” commented Mr. Beau¬ 
champ. "And to think that he would charge you a 
dollar a bushel for that gurry when I gave it to him, 
free, in return for hauling it away! But what can I 
do for you boys?” 

"Sell us a few bushels of fresh herring, if you will.” 

"Gladly,” was the answer, and with that the matter 
was settled. Tom’s boat was loaded with fish, Mr. 
Beauchamp himself supervising the job. "Come back 
for more, any time you like,” he said. "Who is help¬ 
ing you at the pound, or are you two alone?” 

"No, Bart Randall is with us.” 

"Oh, I see. ... Is he the son of the man that’s 
wanted for murder?” 

"Yes, but we don’t think he did it. We think 
McLain swore out the warrant just to get even with 
him, for something, I don’t know what.” 

"Likely enough,” nodded the factory owner, as 
Tom started his engine. "Probably this is the after- 


218 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


math of that affair of the stolen island. Well, good¬ 
bye, glad to have seen you/ 5 

Tom straightened up, wanting to ask what Mr. 
Beauchamp meant by the affair of the stolen island, 
but the man had gone back into the factory. 













Chapter Fourteen 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


Y our dad is home!” called Bart Randall, as Tom 
came up to the pound in his boat. 

"What! Are you sure? How do you know?” 
"Frank Thompson came and told us, and Elmer’s 
gone to meet him.” 

It was grand news, and as a consequence Tom for¬ 
got to mention the stolen island to Bart. He even 
forgot to tell him where he got the herring. Excitedly 
he scattered a bushel of lobster feed about the pound, 
distributing it thinly, as Uncle Joe had advised. And 
before he was through Elmer was back with their 
father. 

"Hello, Tom. Hello, Bart,” he smiled, and shook 
hands with them. "You’re gettin’ along pretty well, 
Elmer says, except for herrin’.” 

"Oh, we’ve got plenty of herring,” said Tom 
proudly. "Here, look.” 


219 


220 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


The father looked at the herring, and likewise at 
everything else. He was, as he himself said jokingly, 
on a tour of inspection. Nothing escaped him. The 
fence across the pound, their living quarters, and 
most of all the big book in which they kept track of 
their buying transactions, — he inspected everything, 
asking questions as he went along. 

"What do you think?” asked Tom, when his father 
had finished. 

"I think you boys have done mighty well,” was the 
reply. "There are still a lot of things I want to know 
about, but I’ll let them go until to-night, when we’re 
home. I think I’ll go visit with Grandpa now. He’s 
old, and not very well, and he would feel hurt if he 
thought I put lobsters before him. Which I don’t. 
I just happened to run into Elmer first, and he was 
anxious for me to see the pound.” 

He went off without saying a word about his at¬ 
tempts to arouse the fishermen of Maine against the 
bond law, but that evening, after supper, he told his 
family everything. Bart had offered to stay alone at 
the pound, so both Elmer and Tom were there, lis¬ 
tening with their mother as Henry Sennett sat in his 
unaccustomed best clothes and talked. 

"I’ve been all up an’ down the coast between here 
an’ Kittery,” he said, "and from what I can see things 
are shapin’ up purty well. The price o’ lobsters has 
been ’way low, all down that way, the s same as it has 
been here, an’ the fishermen they’ve just been a’waitin’ 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


221 


for somebody to come along an' encourage ’em to or¬ 
ganize agin it. Did you see the piece in the paper 
about that?” 

"Why, no!” 

"It was in the Portland paper day before yister- 
day. All about the fishermen organizin’ committees 
to work agin the bond law, an’ how Senator Fales 
is goin’ to help when it comes time to go to Augusta 
with it.” 

"Senator Fales!” exclaimed the mother. "Why, 
Henry, he’s a big man!” 

"You bet he’s a big man,” said her husband, "an 9 
when he takes holt of somethin’ he means business. 
As soon as ever the legislature comes together up there 
to Augusta he’s goin’ to git after it himself, aimin’ 
to repeal that law that’s always let the Ring have a 
monopoly of buyin’ lobsters. It hasn’t been in the 
papers yet, but the senator told me that’s what he’ll 
do.” 

The boys gazed at their father with a mixture of 
awe and admiration. 

"Dad, did you get Mr. Fales to do that?” asked 
Tom. 

"Oh, well, no,” said Henry Sennett modestly. "I 
jest went to see him, and we got to talkin’. Don’t 
git too swelled up, though, this war ain’t nowheres 
near over yit, not by a long chalk it ain’t.” 

Elmer nodded, grave and thoughtful: "Then you’ll 
soon be leaving again.” 


222 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Yes, day after to-morrow, if you boys can get 
along.” 

"We can get along.” 

"You see,” said the father, visibly cheered by this 
assurance, "I’ve got to work along the coast to East- 
port now, the same as Eve been doin’ from Kittery 
here. That’ll take six weeks anywhere.” 

"And then you’ll be home?” asked Mrs. Sennett. 

"I expect to, yes. It may be along toward the end 
of November, but not much later, I don’t think.” 

They talked far into the night, and next day Henry 
Sennett stayed at the pound with them, helping with 
the work, and chatting with the fishermen as they 
dribbled in with lobsters. His visit home was heart¬ 
ening everyone: himself, his family, and the lobster- 
men, many of whom were so eager to hear about the 
impending battle in Augusta that they came to the 
Sennett cottage that night, to ask questions and praise 
their champion for what he was doing. 

"Yes, this visit has been nice for everyone,” ob¬ 
served Elmer, as he and his brother were taking their 
father to the railway station next morning. 

"Everyone but Whipple and the rest of that gang,” 
laughed Tom. "I imagine he knows, by this time, that 
the Ring is going to get a dent in itself before long.” 

"Don’t be too optimistic,” warned Henry Sennett. 
"We’ll all do our best, but we mustn’t get care¬ 
less. Take the lobster pound, for instance. You’ve 
got a pile of lobsters in there, and they represent a 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


223 


mighty big investment, for poor folks like us, espe¬ 
cially. So be careful that nothin’ happens to ’em.” 

''We’ll be as careful as we know how,” said Elmer. 

"Good! By the way, how do you get along with 
Bart? Is he reliable?” 

"He’s fine, couldn’t be better,” declared Tom. 
"Poor old Bart, I wish they’d leave his father alone. 
Oh, listen, Dad, I meant to ask you. Mr. Beauchamp 
said that McLain’s swearing out a warrant against 
Randall was probably a hang-over from something 
about a stolen island. Do you know anything about 
that?” 

"Yes,” said Henry Sennett briefly, "I know about 

It. 

"Well, can’t you tell us? I’d like to know. Is it a 
true story, or just a joke? How could any one steal 
an island? And what island was it?” 

"Apple Island.” 

"What’s that?” exclaimed the boys in astonish¬ 
ment. "Apple Island?” 

"Yes,” said Henry Sennett reluctantly. "McLain 
is supposed to have stolen it, and Randall is supposed 
to have helped him, although nobody knows the real 
truth about that. Haven’t you ever heard about Jen¬ 
kins?” 

"The old hermit that used to live on Apple Island? 
Yes.” 

"Jenkins claimed to have a deed to the island,” the 
story went on, "and McLain wanted to buy the place 


224 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


of him, thinking he could turn around and sell it to 
some rich man for a summer home. The old hermit 
wouldn’t sell it, and when McLain got to pesterin’ 
him he drove him off the island with a gun. So ac¬ 
cordin’ to what they say McLain told Randall that 
Jenkins had illegal possession of some papers of his, 
and hired him to go get ’em out of the shack when 
Jenkin’s wasn’t home. Maybe one of those papers was 
the deed to the island; anyhow, McLain started a 
suit right away, to get possession. He demanded that 
the hermit show his deed, and when of course he 
couldn’t, then McLain pulls out a bill of sale from 
the party that Jenkins was supposed to have bought 
the island from. It had never been recorded, but there 
was McLain’s name on it, and since the party was 
dead nobody could say if the signature was a forgery 
or not. The case went to the Supreme Court, and 
finally McLain got the island, and Jenkins died.” 

"What about Bart’s father, though?” 

"Oh, well, he claimed on the witness stand that he 
thought he was takin’ just some papers that belonged 
to McLain. That sort of cleared him of any crooked¬ 
ness, but McLain always hounded him after that, and 
swore if he didn’t walk chalk he’d put him in jail 
for stealin’ the hermit’s papers an’ tryin’ to sell ’em 
to him.” 

Tom’s curiosity was at last satisfied. He dropped 
the subject, saying no more about it until his father 
had taken the train and the two boys were hurrying 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


225 


back toward Pelly’s Cove. And then his only remark 
was that the stolen island case explained the dread 
with which Randall evidently looked upon McLain. 

"I s’pose so,” said Elmer. ''Shall we mention it to 
Bart?” 

"Why not? He probably knows about it.” 

As a matter of fact Bart knew more about it than 
either of the Sennett brothers. That night, as he and 
Tom sat in the hut, Bart furnished additional de¬ 
tails, and also confessed his fear of what would hap¬ 
pen to his father, in case he were found and arrested 
for Osier’s murder. 

"What can McLain do?” demanded Tom. "He 
hasn’t got any proof, of any kind.” 

"I hear he claims he does have proof.” 

"Is that so? What kind of proof?” 

"I don’t know. Some blood stains, or something 
that way. On Apple Island. That’s where they say 
Pete Osier was killed. The sheriff was over to the 
island and took it all down in a notebook.” 

"What about the body, did they find that?” 

"No.” 

"Well, they’ll have to produce the body before I 
believe it,” said Tom stoutly, and then, by way of 
getting Bart’s mind off the unpleasant subject, he 
pointed to the lantern and said: "Look at that thing 
swing, will you! The wind must be coming up.” 

Bart put a stick of wood into their little stove, sur¬ 
prised at the force with which the smoke puffed 


226 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


back at him. The wind was so strong that they were 
awakened twice that night by its blows against the 
hut. 

“Still blowing hard,” said Tom, sticking his head 
out the door next morning. “Oh, well, we’ve had 
wonderful weather all fall, so we shouldn’t complain.” 

About nine o’clock Elmer arrived, with the news 
that the radio predicted a bad blow. Storm warnings 
were out, and even in the shelter of Pelly’s Cove fish¬ 
ermen were preparing for rough weather. No more 
than half of the lobstermen hauled their traps. Harder 
and harder came the wind, until the picket fence that 
divided the cove from the lobster pound began to 
tremble. It was strong, they knew that; at the same 
time it was rather trying to their nerves to watch it 
shake under the gusty slaps of the wind. 

“Raining now,” observed Elmer, that evening. “I 
shouldn’t be surprised to see it calm by morning. Go 
on home, Tom. If you’re late it’ll worry Mom, you 
know that.” 

Elmer stayed with Bart. About ten o’clock the 
rain turned to sleet, fierce but short-lived, for by 
midnight the storm was practically over. The boys 
went to bed, Bart sleeping heavily until he felt El¬ 
mer’s prodding fingers against his arm. 

“What’s the matter?” whispered Bart. 

“I don’t know. Nothing, probably. I thought I 
heard something.” 

They got up and peeped out. A dense, dripping fog 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


227 


had settled over the cove. The wind had changed. 
It was a black night. The boys stood blinking and 
wondering, then suddenly a low hoarse rumble came 
to them from out of the fog. Elmer gave a sigh of 
relief and crawled back into bed, murmuring: 

"That’s the foghorn down at Pemaquid Point. I 
must have heard it a while ago, and thought it was 
something else. First time I ever heard that horn this 
far up the cove.” 

"Yes, the air has to be just right,” said Bart sleepily. 
"I guess you didn’t hear anything, not on a night 
like this.” 

Yielding to a sense of drowsy comfort and security 
Elmer went back to sleep, but the next morning he 
was anxious again. As the eldest of the three boys he 
held himself responsible for the safety of the lob¬ 
sters, and never since the leasing of the pound had he 
felt entirely free from worry. 

"I’m soaked!” cried Tom, arriving hastily. "This 
is one day I stay in the hut all I can. Where are you 
going, Elmer?” 

"It’s just about low water,” was the answer. "I 
think I’ll have a look at things, just to make sure 
they’re all right.” 

"Go to it,” laughed Tom. "I’ll do my inspecting 
when this fog lifts.” 

The elder brother put on his oilskins and went out. 
Lowering himself carefully on to the slippery rocks 
below the picket fence he started slowly along it, ex- 


228 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


amining everything: pickets, cement foundation, and 
especially the log braces which held the fence from 
without, and which might possibly have been loosened 
by the storm. No, they were all right. And so, ap¬ 
parently, was everything else. He kept creeping on 
over the rocks which the ebbing tide had exposed; 
then all at once he stopped short, cold with hor¬ 
ror. From the cement base below the picket fence 
issued a gushing stream of water as big as a man’s 
arm! 

"Tom! Bart! Come quick!” shouted Elmer, and 
scrambling down among the rocks he reached the 
leak. The water was coming from the pound through 
a steel pipe some four or five inches in diameter. He 
held his hands over it, crying, as his brother and Bart 
Randall dashed up: "Get a wooden plug! This is the 
pipe that’s used to drain the pound, when it’s time to 
sell the lobsters. It’s always been closed from the in¬ 
side, but something has opened it, some thing or some 
person , I don’t know which.” 

The pipe was quickly closed, Bart plugging it from 
the inside of the pound while Tom chuckled at the 
sight of Elmer still holding his hands over the other 
end of it. 

"You look like that Dutch boy in the school 
reader,” he told him, "holding a finger in the leak in 
the dike, and saving the town.” 

"Except that there are probably a lot of lobsters 
that I didn't save,” retorted Elmer. 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


229 


"You think some of them got out? Do you think 
that plug’s been out for quite a while?” 

"Probably.” 

"Why, it was all right day before yesterday. I re¬ 
member Dad looking at it.” 

"Day before yesterday and to-day are two different 
things,” said Elmer, climbing up on to the wharf. 
"That plug’s been out of there since some time last 
night, anyhow. I imagine I heard the fellow that did 
it, that time I woke up and decided it was the fog¬ 
horn. Don’t you remember, Bart?” 

"Yes, sure. What’ll we do about the lobsters that 
have maybe got away, though?” 

"Elave to let them go,” said Tom, shrugging his 
shoulders. 

"I guess not!” objected his brother, with a stubborn 
glint in his eye. "We’ll set traps outside the pound 
and that way get them back, or at least a few we 
can catch. Tom, you and I have got to go for some 
traps.” 

They hastened across the cove to their fish-house, 
loaded half a dozen traps on to the stern of the motor 
boat, and returned with them. In a few minutes 
they had baited up and were dropping the traps here 
and there below the pound fence. Not a word did 
they say about the person who had supposedly un¬ 
plugged the drain pipe. It was possible that the plug 
had worked loose by itself, and if some human be¬ 
ing were to blame it could be no one but an agent of 


230 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


the Ring. In either case there was very little to say, 
and so they concentrated on the attempt to retake 
the lobsters which had probably escaped. 

"Wal, wal, now,” said Sam Murray, coming up 
with his haul a few hours later, "don’t tell me you 
boys are puttin’ out traps agin.” 

"Only a few,” answered Elmer evasively. "We 
have to keep our hand in, you know.” 

Murray went off, but there were others who were 
less easily satisfied. The most indifferent of their 
callers explained at great length that at this season 
of the year the lobsters were moving out to water 
that was far deeper than where the boys had set 
their half-dozen traps, while the more curious frankly 
demanded an explanation. 

"Hee, hee,” snickered Al Burnside, pocketing the 
money which the boys had paid him for his lobsters, 
"them traps out there look queer to me. I smell a 
rat.” 

"Yes,” commented Tom, as Burnside chugged off 
across the cove, "he smells a rat, and I’ll bet he sees 
to it that other people smell it, too. He’s an old 
gossip.” 

The forenoon passed. They ate dinner, and shortly 
before three o’clock, when most of the fishermen had 
sold their lobsters and gone, the boys pulled their 
traps. 

The first trap netted them eight lobsters, all count¬ 
ers, and all with the jam claw plugged. 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


231 


"Ours without a doubt,” muttered Tom. "Let’s 
go try the next one.” 

"Wait,” said the elder brother. "Bait this again. 
We’ll be catching more, I’m afraid.” 

The next trap contained four counters, the third 
had five, and the last three traps yielded a total of 
eleven. Altogether they had recovered twenty-eight 
lobsters. 

"Well, I suppose we ought to be glad we’ve got 
this many back,” said Elmer. "Somebody’s coming. 
I hear the boat.” 

The boat came within a hundred yards of the 
pound, and halted. They watched it curiously, their 
eyes peering through the thinning fog. 

"That’s Jard Kittredge,” announced Bart. "He’s 
setting traps.” 

"I knew it,” said Tom. "He found out from Burn¬ 
side that we had traps here, and that told him the 
story. Maybe Jard did that unplugging act himself, 
or, if he didn’t, he knows there’s lobsters around. I 
wish he’d say something to us.” 

Kittredge set his traps and went away, but the next 
day he did say something to them. He hauled his 
traps, took out the lobsters, and came close enough 
to the pound for the boys to see how big his catch 
had been. 

"About twenty pounds, I should figger,” he grinned 
at them. "Funny they all got rubber bands on their 
jam claws, ain’t it?” 


232 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


The boys could not speak. Even Tom was overcome 
by the man’s bold impudence. Kittredge snorted 
and tried again, evidently bent on making them talk 
back. 

"Well,” he drawled, "I un’erstand the sheriff got 
plenty o’ proof of what happened to Pete Osier, 
over there to Apple Island.” 

Bart tried to keep from looking miserable, while 
the Sennetts frowned. 

"Yes, sir,” Kittredge went on, "there was blood 
on them clam shells back of the shack, an’ plenty of 
footprints besides, enough to convict a certain feller, 
soon’s they catch him.” 

Whereupon Tom roused up. "Oh, so that’s your 
proof!” he laughed. "I guess that won’t amount to 
much, in a law court.” 

"It won’t, eh! Like to know why not.” 

"Because I’m the one that made that blood,” de¬ 
clared Tom. "I cut my hands on those clam shells 
the day I had a tussle with Osier for fooling with our 
traps, and my brother here can prove it.” 

"Is that a fact?” demanded Bart breathlessly. "You 
mean it?” 

"Sure, I do. Why didn’t you tell me what their 
proof was supposed to be! I never had any idea it was 
that. It’s true, you ask Elmer.” 

"True as gospel,” said Elmer. "I was there that 
same day.” 

"Bah!” scoffed Kittredge, from his boat. "I guess 


THE STOLEN ISLAND 


233 


none of you Sennetts’ll feel like swearin’ to no such 
krawm as that, when it comes time for Randall’s 
trial. Guess not!” 

He turned his boat and went off, Elmer thought¬ 
fully eyeing his retreating figure. 

"So Kittredge thinks we won’t feel like testify¬ 
ing for Bart’s father,” he murmured. "I wonder 
what he means by that.” 

"Nothing, he was just blowing off,” said Tom 
lightly. 

"I don’t know about that,” objected his brother. 
"It’s more likely that he let out more than he intended 
to when he said that.” 

"Probably he means,” said Bart, "that if they ever 
catch my dad and bring him to trial there’ll be so 
many other things against him that you folks won’t 
want to take his part.” 

"Don’t be foolish,” answered Tom. 

"I’ll tell you what I think,” said Elmer, after a 
while. "I think that the Ring is getting desperate. 
Father has stirred up a hornet’s nest, and Senator 
Fales is going to take up the repeal of the bond law 
in Augusta. That means that McLain and his crowd 
will have to make us give in before, say, Christmas, 
or else they’ll be the ones to take a licking. My guess 
is that they intend to do something more to us, some¬ 
thing worse than anything they’ve done up to now. 
Do you know what I think we’d better do?” 
"No.” 


234 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I think we’d better build a gangway across the 
top of this picket fence, so that in case we hear any 
suspicious noises in the night we can get over there 
in a hurry. If they try tampering with our pound 
again it’ll probably be at the other side, not here. 
And we want to be prepared.” 

"We will be!” cried Tom. "Come on, boys, we’ll 
start on that gangway right now!” 


Chapter Fifteen 


RIDDLE 


hat very day they began the work of throwing a 



JL gangway across the top of the picket fence, from 
one side of the pound to the other. And it was no 
easy task, as even confident Tom was soon forced to 
admit. Numerous posts had to be cut, one end to be 
sharpened so that it could be driven into the mud 
just inside the rock and cement foundation, the other 
end to be made level enough to act as a smooth sup¬ 
port for the boards which were to be nailed across 
it. The boys put in all their spare time, and yet it was 
practically a week before the gangway was ready for 
use. 

"It'll do,” said Elmer, when the last spike was 
driven. "Now if we hear anything suspicious in the 
night it won’t take a second to run out and see what 


it is. 


Bart and Tom walked across the gangway, to test 
it. The top boarding was perhaps eight inches wide, 


235 


236 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


and on the whole it was solidly supported by the up¬ 
right log posts underneath it. There were, however, 
no side rails or other means of balancing, so that 
when it was windy the boys would have to walk over 
the structure with outstretched arms, in order to be 
sure of not falling. 

"Yes, sirree,” declared Tom, springing off the un¬ 
even board at the farther side of the pound, "Elmer 
had better take more than a second to run across tins 
thing, or he may get a ducking. Well, where is he? 
I thought he was behind you.” 

"He went into the shack.” 

They retraced their steps, made a mental note of 
one or two places where the board walk could be 
braced to advantage, and entered the hut. Elmer was 
sitting at the shelflike affair that served them as both 
dining table and desk. He was busy with paper and 
pencil. 

"What are you doing?” grinned his brother. "Are 
you writing McLain a note, to let him know our 
gangway is finished, and we’re all ready for his next 
trick?” 

"No,” said the methodical Elmer, without a smile, 
"I’m figuring out all the ways they might try to do 
us damage. Listen, and HI read you my list, as far 
as Eve got. First of all, they could set fire to the 
picket fence — ” 

"It wouldn’t burn,” objected Tom. "Too wet.” 

"Or they could do something to get all of us away 


RIDDLE 


237 


from the pound, while they broke down the fence.” 

"We wouldn’t all go. That’s foolish.” 

"Keep still, these are just possibilities,” said Elmer, 
and made quick work of the rest of his list. "They 
could dynamite the pound, or poison the lobsters, or 
come and tie us up and then steal them.” 

"Or play a tune and lead our lobsters out of the 
pound and off over the hills like the Pied Piper,” 
added Tom. "All right, Bart, now it’s your turn to 
invent a wild one.” 

Bart laughed and shook his head. He trusted the 
Ring even less than Elmer, but his mind did not run 
to such imaginative possibilities as dynamite and pied 
pipers. Mostly he gathered his information from what 
people actually said and did, as well as from subtle 
changes of attitude that Tom, for instance, generally 
overlooked. Thus, as the first of November arrived 
without any sign of hostility from the Ring, and 
Elmer himself was beginning to rest easy, it hap¬ 
pened that Bart became more and more suspicious. 

"I don’t like the way Whipple is actin’,” he said 
one day. He had gone for gas, and had just come 
back. 

"Why not?” asked Elmer. "Did he say anything?” 

"No, it’s just the way he looked at me. I think 
there’s something in the wind.” 

Nothing seemed to happen, but the following week 
there was an indirect confirmation of Bart’s sus¬ 
picion. Old Sol Geyer came to see them. He had 


238 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


not been near them since the day they first put their 
lobsters into the pound; indeed, when he saw the 
boys at a distance he had always taken pains to avoid 
them. And now he was actually paying them a visit, 
a nervous untidy little man who pulled the door of 
the hut to, and sat down on a keg to warm his hands 
at the fire. 

"Yes, sir,” he kept repeating, "winter’s here, it 
sure is. Where’s the other one of you fellers?” 

"My brother’s home for the afternoon,” said Elmer. 
"Nobody but Bart and myself here to-day. Why?” 

"Oh, nothin’, nothin’,” said Geyer hurriedly. "Jest 
wonderin’, that’s all. Well, how you makin’ out with 
the pound?” 

"All right.” 

"I hear you been buyin’ a pile o’ lobsters. Coin’ to 
make a lot of money, ain’t you?” 

"Hard to say.” 

"I tell you what you fellers ort to do,” said Geyer, 
trying to be at ease. "You ort to take a long lease on 
this here pound.” 

"We’ve got a lease for three years.” 

"I know, but you better take out a longer one. 
How about a lease for ten years?” 

Elmer looked at him in surprise. "Oh, well, I 
don’t know about that,” he answered. "You better 
talk to Father about it. He’ll be home soon.” 

"How soon?” 

"Two or three weeks.” 


RIDDLE 


239 


"Dunno as I can wait that long.” 

"Why didn’t you talk to him about it last month?” 
asked Bart, all at once. "He was here for two days.” 

"Didn’t git around to it,” was the hesitating an¬ 
swer. "Well, I advise you fellers to take a ten-year 
lease, or maybe I’ll let somebody else have it.” 

"No, I don’t think my father would be interested,” 
declared Elmer. "Ten years is too long a time, when 
everything is so uncertain. This is not much more 
than an experiment, you know. We’ve got to see 
how it comes out before we make any long-time 
plans.” 

"Well, I jest thought I’d do ye a favor,” said Geyer, 
and abruptly he rose and went out. 

"Do us a favor,” repeated Elmer, in a thoughtful 
tone. "I don’t think Sol Geyer would take much 
pains to do that, but what is his idea?” 

"He wants to make hay while the sun shines,” as¬ 
serted Bart, without an instant’s hesitation. "Do you 
believe anybody would be offering him a long-time 
lease on this pound, when you people already have 
it for three years? I don’t. Sol Geyer has heard some¬ 
thing, it looks to me. Why, sure! Maybe he knows 
what the Ring is going to try next, and he’s afraid 
it’ll work, and you’ll be crowded out of the business. 
If that happens he won’t get any more lease money 
out of you, so he comes around and tries to tie you 
up for ten years.” 

This argument appealed to Elmer as both reason- 


240 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


able and sound, and he acted accordingly. The next 
time he went home he hunted up his father’s 16 -gauge 
shotgun, took it secretly to the pound, and warned 
Tom and Bart that from now on they must redouble 
their watchfulness, especially on nights when the 
Portland smack was in the cove. Probably Whipple 
himself was not an active danger, but McLain was. 
Also, McLain now had with him, succeeding Pete 
Osier as his ''crew,” a burly stranger by the name of 
Morton, and Morton was apparently one of these 
people who would bear watching. 

"We’ve got to take turns staying awake nights, 
whenever that smack’s in,” announced the elder 
brother. "That way we can be ready for them, if they 
come and try something.” 

"And the fellow that stays awake has charge of 
the shotgun,” added Tom. 

"It won’t be for long,” continued Elmer. "Father 
is down the coast as far as Milbridge, and he’ll 
probably be home in two weeks. He plans to get 
back by Thanksgiving, I imagine. Once he’s here I 
don’t think these fellows will dare to try anything 
more.” 

The vigil began two nights later. The smack was 
in, and report had it that she would be leaving again 
the following day, about noon. It was Tom’s turn to 
stay at the pound with Bart. They divided up the 
time, Bart sleeping until midnight, and Tom from 
then on. 


RIDDLE 


241 


"Hear anything?” asked Tom, as he awoke next 
morning. 

"No.” 

"I didn’t either, up to midnight.” 

"Midnight!” grinned Bart. "You woke me up at 
eleven o’clock!” 

"Yes, I guess I did, at that. We ought to have a 
flashlight, so we can see what time it is. I think I’ll 
go over and borrow Grandpa’s.” 

Elmer appeared a little later, relieved to hear that 
nothing seemed to have happened. 

"I think I’ll run over to the store and get something 
for dinner,” he said. "I may hang around a while, 
too. Might hear something.” 

"Set me down at Grandpa’s on your way over,” 
suggested Tom. "I want to borrow his flashlight.” 

"Can’t you walk along the shore? It’s a lot out 
of my way.” 

"I’ll walk back.” 

The brothers set out in the boat, Tom getting off 
at Cap’n Len’s wharf. He found his grandfather 
feeling very well, but disinclined to go out. They 
talked for half an hour, then Tom got the flashlight, 
promised to come again and stay longer, and started 
for the pound. 

He made his way through the woods, and at the 
edge of the pound decided that it was shorter to go 
round the upper end of it, rather than turn down 
the shore and cross over the gangway. Absently he 


242 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


walked along. The weather had lately been wet and 
blustery, but unusually mild, so that the ground 
near the water was distinctly soft. Near the head 
of the inlet he glanced down, wondering if he were 
going to get his shoes muddy. Then suddenly he 
halted. There was a strange shoe print in the mud, 
two of them, in fact. Some one else had been there, 
and very recently, by the appearance of the tracks. 
Perhaps last night! 

Agog with excitement, Tom hurried on to the 
hut. Bart was buying lobsters, but as soon as he was 
through, and the fisherman had gone off, Tom told 
him of his discovery. 

"What do you think?” he demanded. "Do you 
think it could have been anybody from the smack?” 

"Sure, it might have been,” Bart agreed. "Let me 
go look at it.” 

"Go ahead. I’ll watch things here.” 

Bart walked up to the head of the pound, and 
returned very little wiser than he had gone. It cer¬ 
tainly looked as if some one had been standing around 
at the edge of the water last night, or yesterday, but 
then it might easily have been Sol Geyer, or any 
number of other people. Moreover, what would an 
enemy be doing at the upper end of the pound? 

"I don’t know,” answered Tom, uncertain again. 
"Maybe Elmer will know. I wish he’d come.” 

It was three quarters of an hour before Elmer 
showed up, and when he did he had no solution to 
contribute. 


RIDDLE 


243 


"I haven’t any idea,” he confessed, after a scrutiny 
of the tracks. "If these footprints were down near 
the fence, I’d say that somebody was either trying 
to let our lobsters back out into the cove, or else 
steal them; but you couldn’t get at them up here, 
they’re down farther, where the water’s deep and 
there’s mud to crawl into. Just the same we’d better 
watch both ends, next time the smack is in.” 

The smack was due back in Pelly’s Cove the fol¬ 
lowing Tuesday, and by chance that was Elmer’s 
night to stay at the pound with Bart. About four 
o’clock in the afternoon Tom closed the big book 

in which the boys kept their daily accounts. 

« 

"Well,” he observed. "I guess I’ll go home. It’s 
getting dark.” 

"Yes, and Mom likes to have an early supper, this 
time of the year,” said Elmer. 

Tom turned and looked at his brother and Bart. 
They were busy, one cleaning the shotgun, the other 
testing the flashlight. The sight of these preparations 
interested Tom. 

"Maybe I’d better stay to-night, instead of Elmer,” 
he said presently. 

"Your turn to-morrow night,” retorted Elmer, 
with a wink for Bart. "Go on home, we’ll tell you 
about it in the morning.” 

"Probably won’t be anything to tell,” yawned the 
younger brother. 

In this, however, he was mistaken. There was going 
to be a good deal to tell the next morning, even though 


244 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


none of them really suspected it. Tom went home, 
and Bart and Elmer rehearsed their plans. As soon 
as they had eaten supper, and it was definitely dark, 
Elmer was to hide near the head of the pound, taking 
along the shotgun, and leaving the flashlight with 
Bart. By way of making it appear that they were in 
the hut Bart was to keep the lantern lit, but he him¬ 
self was to hide just outside. The flashlight was to 
enable him to examine the picket fence, in case he 
heard an unusual noise outside. 

"'You’d better put on all the clothes you can find,” 
advised Bart. "It’ll be cold, standing in one place.” 

"Probably,” said Elmer, and rose from the table 
to bundle up. He put on an extra sweater, added 
Tom’s overcoat, drew on thick mittens, and took up 
the shotgun. "Well,” he said gravely, "here’s wishing 
us luck.” 

"Yes. Fire off your gun if you need help, and I’ll 
come a-runnin’.” 

"All right.” 

Elmer went out. Slipping carefully along the edge 
of the pound, he made his way to the upper end. Be¬ 
tween the water and the woods farther up the slope 
there was a stretch of bare land, where a prowler 
could not pass without being seen. The boy drew 
back among the spruces, out of sight, and yet within 
a hundred yards of the lobster pound. He sat down 
with the shotgun across his lap, prepared to watch. 

It turned out to be a short wait. Gazing at the 


RIDDLE 


245 


dark sky, and wishing that the moon would come 
out from behind the clouds, Elmer spent a silent 
quarter of an hour. He thought of all that had hap¬ 
pened since that memorable June morning when he 
and Tom went out to help their father haul his traps, 
and that, too, helped the time to pass. Then again 
he surveyed the earth and the sky, trying to discover 
what kind of weather was in the making. Possibly 
a storm, he thought, for there was an uneasy wind, 
and he could hear the sullen rumble of the sea as it 
rolled and pushed beyond the ridge of land that sepa¬ 
rated it from Pelly’s Cove. 

Gradually he became aware that some one was near. 
Without moving his body he turned his head and 
looked along the edge of the woods where he sat 
waiting. A certain black something stood just clear 
of the spruces, motionless. It was a man. He was 
apparently watching the pound, making sure that 
everything was all right. 

As quietly as possible Elmer drew back behind a 
tree. He stood up, tense and expectant. The man was 
walking slowly down the hill toward the pound, 
a large bag in his hand. The distance was too great, 
and the night was too dark, for the watching boy to 
identify him, yet he could see that the prowler was 
big and powerfully built. Straight to the edge of 
the water he went, and halted. 

There he stood, while Elmer peered at him from 
behind the spruce tree. What could the fellow be do- 


246 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


ing? He appeared to be holding the bag against his 
breast with one hand, and with the other he seemed 
to be casting a fish line, over and over again. This 
he did for several minutes, and to make it still more 
of a riddle Elmer could occasionally hear a light 
flip from the surface of the pound, such as a fish 
might make in leaping out of the water. Yet no one 
ever caught lobsters with a hook and line. The boy 
was completely mystified. Once he had read that, 
in the Ozarks, bass are sometimes actually enticed 
into jumping into the fisherman’s boat, but that cer¬ 
tainly could not be true of lobsters. And besides, the 
man at the edge of the pound was not even in a boat, 
but at least ten yards from the lobsters that he seemed 
to be conjuring out of the pound and into his bag! 
The whole thing looked like magic, so ridiculous and 
impossible that Elmer forgot his caution and stepped 
forward, in order to see better. A stick cracked un¬ 
der his foot, whereupon the prowler whirled round, 
hesitated a moment, and began to run up the slope 
the way he had come, taking his bag with him. 

''Stop there!” shouted Elmer, and aiming well 
above the head of the fleeing man, he fired. 

The report of the shotgun did not stop him, but at 
any rate it made him drop the bag and flee on with¬ 
out it. Elmer made sure the man was gone, then he 
dashed to where the bag was lying. He snatched it 
up, baffled to discover that it was empty. Rapidly 
he searched about the ground, thinking that perhaps 


RIDDLE 


247 


the lobsters had crawled out. There were no lob¬ 
sters to be found. 

Yet when he lifted the bag to his nostrils he de¬ 
tected the characteristic and undeniable smell of live 
lobsters! What had become of them? 







Chapter Sixteen 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


B art and Elmer spent half the night discussing the 
mystery of the empty bag, and the next morning 
the whole thing had to be gone over again, for Tom’s 
benefit. 

"Why, that’s simple!” exclaimed the younger 
brother, when he had heard a complete account of 
the affair. "The lobsters crawled out of the bag be¬ 
fore Elmer could get there. The bag wasn’t tied, 
was it?” 

"No, but — ” 

"Then that’s it. You know how quick and fast a 
lobster is. Trouble with you was, you got there too 
late. No riddle to that.” 

"Elmer and I searched all over the hillside, and 
didn’t find any,” objected Bart. "I heard the shot¬ 
gun go off. I ran out, and he was on his hands and 
knees, lightin’ matches and lookin’ all over the 
ground. I got out the flashlight and we looked clear 


248 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


249 


from the woods down to the edge of the water, and 
we didn’t find a single one.” 

"Too late,” declared Tom. 

"Oh, let up,” said the elder brother, with a show 
of impatience. "We argued that out last night, and 
we decided they couldn’t have got away so fast. I 
guess Bart and I are the best judges of that. You 
weren’t there.” 

Tom stretched himself out on a bunk: "All right, 
what is the explanation, then? Don’t tell me that fel¬ 
low was catching lobsters with a hook and line.” 

There was a little silence. Bart and Elmer looked 
at each other, sheepish and puzzled. They had dis¬ 
cussed the hook-and-line possibility at great length. 
Neither of them had ever heard of such a thing, 
and besides, there was still the empty bag to explain. 
A man goes to the edge of a pound with a bag, he 
appears to fill it with lobsters — in very short order, 
at that — yet when he is frightened away, and runs 
and drops the bag, and the bag is quickly recovered, 
there is only the smell of lobsters in it! 

"He must have stuck them in his pockets,” observed 
Tom. 

The boys continued to ponder the mystery for an 
hour or more, and then one by one the fishermen be¬ 
gan to drift in with their lobsters. This was a diver¬ 
sion until along about noon, when Sam Murray came 
in with his catch. He watched Elmer weigh the 
lobsters, observing: 


250 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


see the smack’s just left.” 

"It has?” 

"Yes. It don’t stay long now. Changin’ their 
schedule since you boys begun to take so many of 
the lobsters around here.” 

"Oh, by the way,” said Elmer, his thoughts back 
on the riddle, "did you ever hear of anybody catching 
lobsters with a hook and line?” 

"What!” exclaimed the lobsterman. "Fishin’ ’em 
out of the water, the same as cunners, or somethin’ 
that way?” 

"Yes. Did you ever hear of such a thing?” 

"Wal, not this year!” guffawed Murray, and went 
off chuckling. 

Tom put Murray’s lobsters into the pound, and 
turned to his brother, asking soberly: 

"Did you and Bart see any signs of a fishing pole, 
or a fishing line, last night?” 

"No,” said Elmer, and nodded out over the cove. 
"Here comes Ab York, I think I’ll ask him, too, just 
to be sure. Fishermen have different opinions, just 
like doctors.” 

"Don’t cal’late I ever heerd of such a thing,” re¬ 
plied York, when they had put the question to him, 
"but I tell ye what I seen in the paper last night, that 
surprised me jest about as much. Or did ye see 
it?” 

"No, we didn’t see it,” replied Elmer. 

"What was it?” asked Bart quickly. "Somethin* 
about my dad?” 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


251 


"No, somethin’ about Henry Sennett,” smiled the 
fisherman. "Boys, when do ye think he’s cornin’ 
home?” 

"When? Tell us what you saw. Is he cornin’ right 
away?” 

"No, not for quite a spell, the way it looks. Henry, 
he’s turned out to be too valuable, so they’re sendin’ 
him to Augusta. Some of them lobstermen’s commit¬ 
tees down the coast they decided he was the man to go 
to the State capital an’ talk to the legislature about 
the bond law, an’ nobody else would do. It was all 
in the Portland Express-Herald yisterday.” 

The news impressed the boys as being more rumor 
than fact, but very shortly it was confirmed. Uncle 
Joe Gammage came with a letter from Henry Sen¬ 
nett, in which the father announced his change of 
plans. He had expected to be home for Thanks¬ 
giving, but since the lobstermen wanted him to con¬ 
tinue his publicity work in Augusta, and were offer¬ 
ing to pay his expenses, he felt that he should go. 
The legislature was to convene on December 2, and 
Senator Fales would immediately present his proposal 
to repeal the bond law. If everything went well, 
Henry Sennett would be home by the middle of the 
month. In closing, he hoped that everything was 
going well at the pound. In case the boys needed his 
advice about anything, they could write him at 
Augusta, General Delivery. 

"Well, we certainly need his advice,” said Elmer, 
when the three boys were eating their dinner in the 


252 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


hut, "but we’re not going to ask it; not about this 
latest tangle, anyway.” 

"No?” inquired Tom, helping himself to more 
spaghetti. 

"Of course not. Father will have his hands full, 
without our bothering him with little details.” 

"It’s not a little detail when people are stealing 
your lobsters,” responded the younger brother. "Eh, 
Bart?” 

"You’re right!” said Bart emphatically. "We ought 
to be able to stop it ourselves, though, just as Elmer 
says. Next time the smack comes we ought to all 
of us hide up there in the woods, and catch that fel¬ 
low.” 

Elmer bent over to eat. He kept his eyes on his 
plate, more discouraged than he cared to confess. 
The mystery of the empty bag seemed as insoluble 
as ever, and if the thief had outwitted them once, 
why would he not be able to do so again? It was 
rarely that Elmer was downright despondent, but this 
time he could not seem to help it. Dully he bent over 
his plate, until without warning the table tipped up 
and the dishes clattered to the floor, spaghetti and 
all. Tom had sprung to his feet, indifferent to the 
table he had upset. 

"Good gracious!” he gasped. "Good heavens 
above!” 

"What’s the matter with you?” said Elmer crossly, 
while Bart gaped in astonishment. 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


253 


"I’ve found it,” whispered Tom, and gulped noisily. 

"Found what?” 

"The answer to the riddle. And haven’t we been 
dumb! Listen, that fellow wasn’t taking lobsters 
out of the pound, he was putting them in” 

Neither Bart nor Elmer could speak. Tom went 
on rapidly: 

"That 3 s exactly it. He came with his bag full of 
lobsters, and that movement with his hand that 
Elmer thought was to cast a line, that was our un¬ 
known friend tossing lobsters into the pound. The 
flip was the noise the lobsters made when they struck 
the water. Of course the bag was empty when he 
dropped it! He had already emptied it.” 

"Putting in lobsters,” said Elmer slowly. "What 
for?” 

"Shorts!” 

Bart picked up the table. Tom and his brother 
merely gaped at each other. The full meaning of the 
discovery was just sinking in upon them. Shorts, 
that was it. This was the same sort of trick that had 
been played on them once before, only now it was on 
a larger scale. On the previous occasion the Ring 
had seemingly planted fifteen short lobsters in Henry 
Sennett’s car, with a resulting loss of his license and 
seventy-five dollars fine. Now the enemy was dump¬ 
ing shorts into their pound, intending, probably, 
to put in so many that the fine of five dollars apiece 
would completely ruin them. 


254 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Get the bail, Tom,” said the elder brother at 
length. "Bart, you and I can get the skiff into the 
pound.” 

"No use trying that,” protested Tom. "Lobsters 
are mostly down in the mud, this late in the year. 
That’s another reason we shouldn’t ever have thought 
anybody was taking them out; they couldn’t get at 
them.” 

"I’m going to bail just enough to make sure there 
are shorts in there,” replied his brother. "I know 
there’s no getting them all out. Come on.” 

They put the skiff into the pound. Tom pushed 
the boat slowly about, Bart watched, and Elmer dug 
down with the long-handled bail and tried to scoop 
up lobsters. Fortunately the tide had only just be¬ 
gun to come in, so that the water was relatively shal¬ 
low. On the other hand, the lobsters seemed to have 
retreated pretty well into the combination of mud 
and rocks which formed the bottom of the inclosure. 
At the end of half an hour the boys had succeeded in 
capturing only seven of the creatures, and of these 
two escaped before they could be dumped into the 
skiff. Yet that did not matter, for two of the five 
remaining lobsters were shorts. According to the 
legal measure neither of them was much over three 
inches from eyestalk to the back of the body shell. 

Silently Elmer tossed them out beyond the picket 
fence, into the open cove. The boys returned to the 
hut, numb with dismay. It was true, then. Their 


i 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


255 


enemies had planted short lobsters in the pound, per¬ 
haps hundreds of them. And no doubt they would 
try to put in more, if they had a chance. 

"Maybe we could get an injunction against them,” 
suggested Tom. 

"What 3 s an injunction?” asked Bart. 

"It’s a court order. I’ve heard Grandpa tell about 
them. If we could get one from the court in Wis- 
casset, it would forbid the Ring to load us with any 
more shorts.” 

The elder brother shook his head: "That’s no good. 
You’d have to have more proof than we’ve got; and 
another thing, it wouldn’t help us with the shorts 
that are already in the pound.” 

"I’d like to know how long this has been going on,” 
muttered Bart. 

"No telling,” said Elmer, suddenly glancing at his 
watch. "I’ll tell what I’ve got in mind, though. 
Crosby Hanna is always asking curious questions about 
Father, so I’m going to take the boat and run over 
to his house and talk to him. He’ll find out the news 
he’s been after, and if I have any luck I’ll find out 
from him about these short lobsters.” 

"How can you do that?” Tom wanted to know. 
"And why pick on Crosby?” 

"Because he sells shorts whenever he gets a chance, 
and probably the ones in our pound have come from 
right around here in Pelly’s Cove. I don’t think 
McLain would bring them in, because he’d forfeit 


256 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


his bond if he happened to be caught with them. 
Whipple must collect them locally, and if he does he 
has to get them from people like Crosby Hanna. HI 
go see.” 

"Don’t let him know what you’re after,” said Tom. 

"Well, what do you think!” was the retort. 

Elmer went off, leaving his brother and Bart in 
charge of the pound. It was a quiet afternoon, the 
weather threatening, and no more lobstermen coming 
in. Bart sat down to write his weekly letter to his 
father, while Tom sprawled out on his bed to read. 

An hour later Elmer came in the door, and Tom 
sat up: 

"You back? What did you find out?” 

"Plenty. Whipple has a standing order for all the 
shorts he can get. He’s been buying them of fellows 
like Crosby Hanna for three weeks. They get a dol¬ 
lar a dozen for everything they bring in.” 

"No cancellations lately?” 

"It doesn’t look that way. I was hoping that my 
firing that shot at Morton, or whoever it was, would 
scare them off, but Crosby says Whipple bought some 
shorts of him just this morning, and that looks as if 
they were going to try to plant some more on us. 
Don’t you think so, Bart?” 

"Yes, sure. That’s exactly what they’ll do. It would 
take more than a shot to scare those fellows.” 

"Then we’ve got to be ready for them,” declared 
Tom. 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


257 


They made their plans, and waited for the smack 
to return. It came as usual, but that night the Sen- 
nett brothers waited in the woods in vain. No one 
came. Also, the smack left before noon. 

“Maybe they have been scared off,” said Tom. 

“I don’t believe it,” said skeptical Bart. 

And once more his suspicions were to prove cor¬ 
rect. Before the day was over they learned that on 
the trip out of Pelly’s Cove the smack captain had 
been accompanied by Al Burnside as helper, Morton 
having stayed behind. 

“Morton’s a stranger in these parts, so he’s doubtless 
here for trouble,” admitted Elmer. “I wonder where 
he’s staying. 

By dint of careful questioning they discovered that 
Morton was staying with Jard Kittredge, whereupon 
the boys were convinced that trouble was brewing. 

“They’re doing that so we won’t know the particu¬ 
lar night to expect Morton,” declared Tom. “Always 
before it was the night the smack was in, but now it 
can be any old time. Wait, though. I’ve got an idea 
about that. Morton hasn’t any boat, so he’ll probably 
use Jard’s, and that’s moored out in the middle of the 
cove, at night time. If I were to stand out on this 
lower neck of land and watch I could tell when 
Jard’s boat moves, and that would warn us. They’d 
probably go for their shorts, swing around, and then 
land, so I’d have plenty of time to tell you fellows. 
How’s that for a scheme?” 


258 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Elmer and Bart agreed that it was a good one, and 
that night Tom began to watch the boat. According 
to their plan Tom was to report back to the hut as 
soon as he was sure that the Kittredge boat was being 
used. One boy was then to stay and watch the pound 
fence, while the other two were to hurry off to 
intercept Morton, or Kittredge, whichever it hap¬ 
pened to be. 

Nothing happened that night. The following eve¬ 
ning Tom prepared to return to his lookout station, 
still confident. He stood at the door, ready to go, 
when Bart stopped him: 

"Wait a minute, Eve thought of something else. 
Suppose I take my dad’s fish nets and spread them on 
the ground, up there where Morton is likely to come.” 

The brothers laughed, understanding at once what 
Bart meant. Fishermen often spread their nets on 
the grass to dry, and nothing is harder to walk over 
without tripping. The meshes easily entangle the 
feet of the unwary victim, and many times he at¬ 
tempts to get free only to fall in a snarl of twine. 
If Morton walked into such a net he would probably 
be easy to catch. 

"Get all you have,” grinned Tom. "HI help you 
spread them. Elmer can stay here.” 

The nets were quickly hauled out, Bart shoulder¬ 
ing one, Tom taking the other. They carried them 
across the gangway and up toward the head of the 
pound, and there they carefully spread them out. In 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


259 


the thickening light it was impossible to see them. 

"You go ahead,” said Bart. "Fll figure out if 
they’re in the right place or not, and maybe move 
them a little. You ought to be at your station.” 

"That’s right. It’s later than I thought. Well, so 
long, and don’t be surprised if I come running back, 
sometime between now and midnight. I don’t think 
these fellows will wait many more nights.” 

Bart stayed behind with the nets, studying the lay 
of the land, and occasionally shifting his novel 
"traps.” At length he had them arranged to his satis¬ 
faction. He straightened up, interested in the weather. 
The air was piercing cold, and there seemed to be 
a wind, although from where he stood he could not 
be sure of that. 

"I think I’ll walk up to the top of the hill and 
see,” he said to himself. 

He set out, but before he had reached the edge of 
the woods he heard a low whistle, and turned to see 
some one approaching. Bart grew stiff, then he re¬ 
laxed. It was Tom, coming up breathlessly to re¬ 
port: 

"I’m not sure about Kittredge’s light out in the 
cove. Looks to me as if his boat hasn’t been there. 
It wasn’t there before sundown. Maybe he’s taken 
her over to his wharf. If he has, there’s no use in 
my watching down on the point.” 

"That’s right.” 

"I think I’ll run down and tell Elmer. I’ll ask him 


260 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


what he thinks we’d better do, and then I’ll come 
back. Where will you be?” 

“Either here or up near the top of the hill,” said 
Bart. “I’ll stay in the path, so you can find me. I 
wouldn’t whistle, though, if I were you. It’s early, 
but just the same some one else might hear you.” 

“All right,” and Tom vanished. 

Quietly Bart kept on to the top of the hill. A 
gust of wind struck his face, and with the wind there 
was now and then a flake of sharp snow. He stood 
there for perhaps ten minutes, absorbed in watching 
what was apparently the beginning of a snow storm, 
the first of the year. 

All at once his attention was attracted to a sound. 
It came from behind him, from the direction of the 
lobster pound. Tom, probably, returning from the 
hut. 

“What did Elmer say?” murmured Bart. 

The noise stopped. Bart could see a figure in the 
path, standing still. And again he took for granted 
that it was Tom, perhaps trying to frighten him by 
refusing to answer his question, even though this 
was certainly no place for a joke. 

“That you, Morton?” said a rough voice. 

The inquiry came from the figure in the path. 
Then it was not Tom! It was somebody that expected 
Bart to be Morton! Bart stood stock-still, peering 
at the unknown man ahead of him. From the sound 
of his voice it was Jard Kittredge. He must have 



"Hold him!” cried Kittredge. 
























































































YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


263 


cut round through the woods to reconnoiter along 
the lobster pound, and was on his way back to get 
Morton when he came upon Bart. The boy was just 
stepping out of the path, with a vague intention of 
hiding, when two stout arms encircled him from 
behind. 

"Hold him!” cried Kittredge, in a low tone, and 
darted forward. "Stick your fist in his mouth!” 

Bart’s mouth was already closed, his assailant’s 
right hand firmly over it, while with his left arm the 
man held him around the waist. The boy kicked and 
twisted, but it was of no use. He was in the grip of 
a powerful man of almost twice his weight, or rather 
he was now in the grip of two men. 

"Never mind kickin’,” growled Kittredge, seizing 
hold of him. "Hullo, it’s the Randall young un.” 

"That so?” said the man who must be Morton. 
"Maybe he’s got somethin’ on him that we want, 
if that’s who he is.” 

"You never can tell,” chuckled Kittredge, and 
at a sign from Morton the two men threw Bart to 
the ground and began to go through his pockets. The 
boy began to struggle more furiously than ever, for 
now he was not merely trying to escape and call Tom 
and Elmer, he was trying to keep possession of a 
certain precious letter in his pocket. Gasping and 
writhing, he did his best, but it was not enough. A 
violent hand seized his coat, reached into the inside 
pocket, and pulled out the letter. 


264 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"This is prob’ly it,” declared Morton. "You take 
it and get in the boat, I’ll handle this feller.” 

Kittredge scuttled away toward the shore, where¬ 
upon Bart stopped fighting, it having occurred to him 
that the sooner he became quiet the sooner he would 
be set free. 

"That’s the stuff,” nodded the burly stranger. 
"Now I’ll let ye up, but don’t start anything.” 

He let the boy go, and immediately Bart darted 
around him and off the way Kittredge had gone, des¬ 
perately intent upon recovering his letter. 

It was too late. The boat was gone. 

Ten minutes later Tom found Bart Randall sitting 
at the water’s edge, weak with despair. 

"Look at the bag of lobsters I found at the top 
of the hill!” cried Tom triumphantly. "There must 
be five dozen in it. Something scared them off. Was 
it you? Tell me what happened.” 

Bart told him. 

"That’s fine,” commented Tom. "We didn’t catch 
them, but we kept them from dumping this many lob¬ 
sters, anyhow. Come on, let’s go back to the hut. 
What’s the matter, was there anything important 
in that letter they took away from you?” 

"Yes,” said Bart, in a heartsick voice. "It was a 
letter I’d just written to my father, and it had his 
address on the envelope.” 

"Send him a telegram to warn him.” 

"Can’t. There warn’t really an address; it was just 


YOU NEVER CAN TELL 


265 


General Delivery, in Boston, so he’d never get a tele¬ 
gram till he happened to call there, and he don’t do 
that oftener than twice a week or so. That’d be 
too late. They’ll have the Boston police a-watchin’ 
the post office for him to show up. Now they’ll 
catch him, sure.” 


Chapter Seventeen 


BART GOES AWAY 


he sky, next morning, was gray and turbulent, 



JL with the slow-coming storm a little farther on its 
way. Instead of flying inland to feed, as was their 
custom, the gulls stayed in the cove, bunching up in 
anticipation of bad weather. By noon the wind was 
savage, and snow was falling, or rather it was swirl¬ 
ing and dashing through the air, to fall only during 
a lull in the gale. 

Elmer fought his way off along the shore, to visit 
his grandfather and his mother, and make sure they 
were all right. By the time he got back the storm 
was uprooting trees, plastering snow against houses, 
and washing it off with cold rain. At high water the 
gale reached its climax, and began to die away. The 
wind slackened, the air was pungent with the smell of 
kelp, and the noise of the sea seemed louder than ever. 
Tom managed to find a little peephole at the win¬ 
dow of the hut, and looked out, remarking: 


266 


BART GOES AWAY 


267 


"To-night’s going to be one of these stay-at-home- 
by-the-fire nights, even for rascals that carry short 
lobsters around.” 

"No, they won’t come to-night,” agreed his 
brother. "And if this snow stays on, maybe we’ll be 
through with them for good. The snow would show 
their tracks.” 

"A lot they’d care about that,” scoffed Tom. 
"After what they did to Bart, they’d dare do any¬ 
thing. That’s my opinion.” 

The brothers turned to Bart, but he did not re¬ 
spond. Ever since the theft of his father’s address he 
had been sunk in gloom, rousing up to write a warn¬ 
ing letter to his father in time for Elmer to mail it 
earlier that day, and then falling back under the 
weight of his despair. There was nothing more to be 
done, they had discussed that the night before. As 
a matter of theory, they ought to have Kittredge and 
Morton arrested, but as a matter of fact it would 
probably do no good. The two men would doubtless 
swear to an alibi for each other, while Bart would 
have no witnesses to confirm his story. It would be 
futile; the better way, the boys agreed, was to let 
it go, say nothing, and try to catch the miscreants in 
another sortie against the lobster pound, if there 
would ever be another. 

"I hope this storm won’t delay the mail,” said 
Bart, still thinking of the letter he had sent his father. 

"Probably it won’t,” declared Elmer. "The mail- 


268 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


man will put up his car and get out the old horse and 
sled, that’s all.” 

Snow continued to fall, but the air was quieter, and 
warmer. Next day the mail came practically on 
schedule. There was a letter from Henry Sennett, 
postmarked Augusta. He announced that he had 
arrived in the capital in time to see the legislature 
convene; he described that interesting event, and con¬ 
fessed that he was very hopeful of the repeal of the 
bond law. Senator Fales was kindly allowing him to 
use a desk in his office; letters from fishermen were 
coming in almost every hour, urging them to fight for 
repeal and promising the support of lobstermen all 
along the coast. Within a few days Senator Fales 
would present the repeal measure to the legislators, 
and then it would not be long before Henry Sennett 
would know the results of his months of agitation. 

"Of course we have our hopes,” he wrote, "but 
we mustn’t get them too high. The dealers have 
representatives here, and they are working just as 
hard to keep the law as we are to get rid of it. 
Politics is a queer thing, so we may be defeated. All 
I can say is that I will try to get as much success here 
in Augusta as you boys have had in handling the lob¬ 
ster pound.” 

That was the end of the letter, and for the boys 
it was a bitter end. Its concluding sentence was a 
mockery. Unbeknownst to Henry Sennett the lob¬ 
ster pound was now infested with an unknown num- 


BART GOES AWAY 


269 


ber of shorts, the consequence of which would 
certainly be the loss of their pound license, disgrace, 
and a fine which they could ill afford to pay. And 
that was the success which he hoped to duplicate in 
Augusta! 

"Well, anyhow,” observed Elmer, putting the letter 
aside, "it looks bad for that bond law, and that’s a 
lot.” 

"I wish I could hear something about my dad, 
either one way or the other,” said Bart, moodily. 

"You have!” declared Tom. 

"How’s that?” 

"Why, no news is good news, isn’t it? They prob¬ 
ably didn’t get him after all, or you’d be hearing by 
now. Cheer up.” 

Bart rose to his feet. "It’s not quite time to hear,” 
he replied, "but I guess I’d better get my mind off 
it. I think I’ll take a walk around the pound, and see 
if there are any tracks in the snow. Those villains 
might have come last night, you know.” 

He made a circuit of the pound and came back 
stamping and blowing his fingers, to report that the 
neighborhood was absolutely clear of tracks. 

"Then we’d better go back to schedule,” nodded 
Elmer, "two of us here every night, and either Tom 
or I home with Mom.” 

"Two of us here with the shotgun,” amended the 
younger brother. 

"Yes, but go easy with that shotgun.” 


270 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I’ll go easy, but not too easy, the way you did,” 
retorted Tom. "You fired in the air that time Morton 
dropped the empty bag, and he probably knew it. 
Of course he won’t stay away, if that’s the kind of a 
reception he’s sure of getting.” 

Elmer tightened his lips, and that evening he in¬ 
sisted that it was Tom’s turn to go home. The 
younger brother went off, Elmer and Bart staying at 
the pound. 

Nothing happened. The following night Tom 
stayed with Bart, and again everything was peaceful. 
Another inch of snow fell, the weather turned cold 
and calm, no tracks appeared about the edge of the 
pound. Elmer put in another night at the hut, then 
once more it was Tom’s turn to stay with Bart. 

By this time, however, Tom had grown rather 
careless in the matter of expecting an attack. After 
supper he gave the pound a brief inspection and 
returned indoors, stretching out on the bed with a 
book. For an hour he read, then he looked over at 
Bart: 

"What are you doing?” 

"Nothing.” 

"I wouldn’t worry, if I were you. That address 
didn’t do those fellows any good, or they would have 
had your dad in jail long ago. I tell you he gave them 
the slip.” 

"He hasn’t written to me, since then.” 

"What of it! Hasn’t had the chance, probably, or 


BART GOES AWAY 


271 


maybe he thinks it’s too dangerous. . . . Well, let’s 
go to bed. I guess sleep is what you need, more than 
anything else.” 

It seemed to be a correct diagnosis, for Bart was 
scarcely in his bunk before he dropped off, weary and 
heavy. Tom, on the contrary, was restless. He lay 
awake for perhaps half an hour, and then, with 
the idea that it was too warm in the hut, he got up 
and opened the door a little way. With a sigh he 
again tried to sleep, and found it impossible. Rolling 
and tossing he put in another half hour, and was 
about to doze off when he fancied he heard something 
outside. 

Whatever it was, the noise was very slight. Also 
it was intermittent rather than steady or continuous. 
It was somewhat like the slow drip of rain from a 
roof. Still, it couldn’t be raining. Perhaps it was 
moisture dripping from the roof of the hut, though 
it sounded too far away for that. 

Too far away, and too loud! An unusually noisy 
plop brought Tom out of bed, and to his feet. With¬ 
out bothering to put on his shoes he snatched up the 
shotgun and stepped past the still sleeping Bart, 
thanking his lucky stars that the door was already 
partly open. Carefully he pulled it wider, relieved 
that it did not creak. 

"No use waking Bart,” he said to himself. "He’d 
laugh at me, if this was a false alarm. I’ll go see 
first.” 


272 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


He was outside by this time, close against the hut. 
It was a dark night and somewhat foggy, but he could 
distinguish a dark blotch out in the middle of the 
inlet, below the picket fence, some fifty yards from 
where he was standing. Tom was sure that it was 
a rowboat, and presently he was convinced that it 
contained two men, one of whom was minding the 
oars, while the other stood erect and methodically 
threw lobsters up and over the picket fence and into 
the pound. The "dripping” sound the boy had heard 
was nothing else than the noise of the lobsters strik¬ 
ing water. 

Tom crouched down and began to crawl across 
the wharf in the direction of the gangway. He was 
too far away to do more than startle the marauders 
with his shotgun, but if he could get, say, a third 
of the way along the gangway he would be close 
enough to make them either put up their hands or 
take the consequences. 

Cautiously he advanced, always with his eyes on 
the boat. Then he noticed that the flipping sound 
had stopped. More than that, it struck him that 
the rowboat was apparently as far away as ever, in 
fact it was farther off! 

The truth flashed in upon him. The two men 
were moving away, back out into the cove. Perhaps 
they had got rid of all the lobsters they had brought 
with them, perhaps they had heard him, or seen him; 
at any rate, they were rowing softly away. Quickly 


BART GOES AWAY 


273 


springing to his feet Tom brought the shotgun into 
position, and shouted at them: 

"Stop, or I’ll shoot!” 

The answer came promptly — and in unexpected 
form. A bullet whined past Tom’s head. They had 
fired at him, and with a high-powered rifle at that! 
He let fly with his shotgun, and almost at once there 
was a second shot from the rifle, followed by a third. 
The boy put down his gun: it was a single-shot, and 
he had no more shells with him. Besides, he must 
get off the gangway, where he was too plain a mark 
for the man with the rifle. A short dash took him 
halfway to the hut, then a fourth bullet tore past 
him. Swiftly he dropped to his knees and let him¬ 
self down behind the gangway, his stockinged feet 
in the water, and his hands clutching the boarding 
above. 

"Where are you, Tom?” cried a voice from the hut. 
Bart was hurrying out, confused and excited. "Tom, 
what’s the matter? Answer me!” 

"I’m all right,” Tom called back. "Keep out of 
the way. They’ve got a rifle!” 

The shooting, however, was over. The rowboat was 
out of sight, and Bart was running to help Tom up 
on to the gangway again. 

"Did they hit you?” he cried. 

"No, I just got down there for safekeeping.” 

"What were they doing?” 

"Tossing shorts over the fence, I guess. Come on, 


274 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


let’s get in the motor boat and chase them. They 
haven’t got anything but a rowboat. We can over¬ 
haul them in no time.” 

Bart shook his head: "Too risky,” he replied. 
"We’ve got the motor boat but they’ve got the rifle, 
and that’s the main thing. It might turn out bad for 
us in another way, too.” 

"What do you mean?” 

"Maybe they’d like to toll us away,” said Bart, "so 
one of ’em could slip back and do some damage to 
the pound.” 

"That’s right,” and Tom led the way into the hut. 
"I never thought of that. Say, you never lose your 
head, do you?” 

"I never had any to lose,” said Bart bitterly, "else 
I’d be more help to my dad.” 

The boy was still brooding. Not even Tom’s skir¬ 
mish with the two men in the rowboat could make 
him forget the trouble his father was in. The fol¬ 
lowing morning he listened absently while the ex¬ 
cited Tom told Elmer about the fight of the night 
before, and when he found a chance to interrupt he 
said: 

"I think I’ll go across the cove to the store, and see 
if there’s any news.” 

"Go ahead,” Elmer invited. "Listen for any gos¬ 
sip about Morton, too, if you think of it.” 

Off he went, and toward noon came back, feeling 
much better. There was a report that the Boston 


BART GOES AWAY 


275 


police had waited patiently at the post office, but 
had failed to find Randall. It was said that he 
had slipped aboard some vessel bound for foreign 
shores. 

"I hope he has , 55 said Bart. "I know he didn’t have 
anything to do with Pete Osier disappearin’, and if 
they got him they’d try to convict him, just out of 
spite.” 

"Well, don’t worry any more than you have to,” 
nodded Elmer. "He’s done fine so far, keeping out 
of their way. What about Morton, did you hear any¬ 
thing?” 

"Nothing, except that he’s still here.” 

"Then we’ll keep watch,” said Elmer. "Good 
gracious, isn’t there any limit to what those fellows 
will try?” 

And that night he was inclined to answer the ques¬ 
tion in the negative. It was Elmer’s turn to stay with 
Bart. They had supper. Afterward they took a look 
about the pound, cleaned and loaded the shotgun, 
and went to bed. 

Scarcely were they in bed when they heard a motor 
boat approaching. 

Up they jumped, startled and outraged. They 
never had visitors at the pound after dark, so this 
must be the enemy. What were they going to try 
to do this time, tear down the picket fence, or over¬ 
power the boys and steal the lobsters? 

"We’ll see,” muttered Elmer, slipping on his shoes. 


276 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"They’ve shut off their engines,” said Bart, already 
at the door. 

"Let me go first,” said Elmer. "I’ve got the gun. 
Don’t make any noise, till we see what they’re up 
to.” 

They crept outside, astonished to find that the 
motor boat was actually drifting up to their little 
wharf. It tied up. Breathlessly the boys waited, Elmer 
ready with the gun. A dark head showed at the 
top of the ladder, then he waited no longer. 

"Stop right there!” he commanded. "Put up your 
hands.” 

"Wal, wal,” was the answer, "what kind o’ talk 
is that?” 

"That you, Ab?” asked Elmer, suddenly recogniz¬ 
ing their caller. 

"If it ain’t I’m wearin’ the wrong feller’s hat,” 
said Ab York, and came up on to the wharf. "What 
you doin’ with that gun, Elmer?” 

"Looking for folks that want to fool with our 
lobster pound,” was the answer. 

York made no rejoinder. He seemed to have some¬ 
thing on his mind, something of such pressing im¬ 
portance that Elmer’s remark could make no real 
impression upon him. Without lingering for an in¬ 
vitation he walked into the hut, fumbled about for 
the lantern, and lit it. Then he sat down and looked 
curiously at Bart, indifferent to the questioning gaze 
of the two boys. 


BART GOES AWAY 


277 


"You’ve got news for me,” said Bart, in a strange 
tone. 

"Wal, yes,” answered York reluctantly, "I cal’late 
I have. How’ll ye have it, sugar-coated the same as 
one o’ them pills ye git to the drug store, or straight 
from the shoulder?” 

"Straight from the shoulder,” said Bart, with a 
pale face. "What is it?” 

"Wal, sir,” was the reply, "they’ve got your daddy.” 

"Arrested him?” 

"Yes.” 

"Where’d they find him? I thought he got on a 
boat to some foreign country.” 

"Cal’late that’s what he aimed to do, but he couldn’t 
make it. Accordin’ to tell he went to Gloucester an’ 
signed up on one o’ them Portygee fishin’ schooners, 
the Mary Silva I think this one was; anyhow your 
daddy went in her, thinkin’ maybe she’d put in at 
some Novy Scotia port afore she got back, but in¬ 
stead of that she stopped in at Port Clyde to get some 
tormented thing or other, and they searched her. 
Your daddy he had another name hitched on to his- 
self, but they knowed him anyway.” 

"Where is he now?” 

"Rockland jail. Took him there this afternoon, 
the sheriff told me.” 

"What sheriff? Our sheriff, Will Curtis?” 

"Yes. Will, he left for Rockland this evenin’, 
aimin’ to stay over night there an’ then fetch your 


278 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


daddy back to Wiscasset to-morrow. I thought you’d 
want to know about it.” 

Bart passed a hand slowly across his weary head: 
"Yes, much obliged to ye for cornin’ an’ tellin’ me.” 

Presently York rose to go. The boys accompanied 
him to the edge of the wharf, and then came back 
into the hut. Elmer spoke, for the first time since 
the news had come: 

"Well, it’s a shame, but don’t take it too hard. 
Arresting a man is a long ways from convicting him, 
especially when he’s innocent.” 

"That’s just it,” said Bart, in a scarcely audible 
tone. 

"What?” 

"I’ve never said anything to a soul,” continued 
Bart, "but that’s just what’s been worryin’ me lately.” 

"You mean you think your father did kill Osier!” 
exclaimed Elmer. 

"Yes.” 

"Nonsense! Why you said, yourself, just the other 
day, that he didn’t do it. Have you changed your 
mind, or what?” 

"I’ve changed it a dozen times,” Bart confessed. 
"Osier was tryin’ to bully Dad into something, I 
know that. Probably McLain put him up to it, 
thinkin’ that Osier could maybe get him to help cut 
your traps loose, or something like that. If they got 
to fightin’ about it my dad could have killed him, 
and you know it.” 


BART GOES AWAY 


279 


"I don’t know any such thing,” said Elmer firmly. 
"You're discouraged, and that makes you imagine 
things. Let’s go back to bed. You’ve got to get some 
sleep. You’ll have to go to Wiscasset to-morrow and 
talk to your father.” 

"Can you get along without me here?” 

"Don’t worry about that.” 

They went to bed again, and the next morning 
Elmer had some more helpful advice. Bart’s father 
would need a lawyer, so why not go to see Mr. Tucker, 
the man who had defended the Sennetts in their 
short-lobster case? Also, Bart must stay in Wiscasset 
for the time being, in order to be close to his father, 
and be on hand for any necessary consultations with 
their lawyer. 

Immediately after breakfast Bart prepared to go. 
He had plenty of gasoline in his boat, and his extra 
clothes were few enough to be tied up in a small bun¬ 
dle. 

"Need any money?” asked Elmer. 

"Don’t think so. I’ll get a job at something, up at 
Wiscasset.” 

Bart climbed into his boat, waved a sober good¬ 
bye, and went off. Elmer returned to the hut, fight¬ 
ing against a feeling of depression. He tried to get 
his mind on other things, but it was in vain. When 
Tom appeared he found his brother in the doldrums, 
too dull to give more than the barest outline of the 
story of Randall’s arrest and Bart’s departure. 


280 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Poor old Bart,” sighed Tom. "He’s in just as 
tight a jam as we are, with his dad in jail. Worse, I 
suppose, because none of us is going to land behind 
the bars, anyway.” 

"There won’t be much difference, as far as the 
disgrace to Father and Mom is concerned,” said Elmer. 
"If there was only some way of getting clear of all 
the short lobsters that are in our pound, but there 
isn’t. They’ll just naturally stay there with the others 
until we sell them.” 

Tom brightened up: "Maybe we could take them 
out then, and let them go, without anybody knowing 
it.” 

"Fine chance of that!” scoffed the elder brother. 
"Do you think McLain and those fellows would give 
us time to do that? No sirree, they’ll have the fish 
warden right here on this wharf, in plenty of time 
to examine every lobster that comes out of the pound. 
No, I don’t see any loophole at all. We’re in for it.” 



NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


T he departure of Bart Randall forced Elmer and 
Tom to readjust their plans. So long as the Ring 
kept up the treacherous business of planting the 
lobster pound with shorts, just so long must both of 
the brothers pass the nights on guard. This much 
was clear, but the difficulty was their mother, who 
ought not to be left alone at night. Perhaps she would 
be willing to move over to Grandpa’s for a while. 

Then Morton unexpectedly solved the problem by 
going back to Portland on the smack, and staying 
there. Evidently the Ring considered that the Sen- 
nett pound was well loaded with shorts by this time! 

"I’m glad for you, Mom,” Elmer told his mother, 
after a few vague hints at their plan, and the reason 
for it. "You wouldn’t have been comfortable at 
Grandpa’s, the way he keeps his fires raging all the 
time.” 

"Well, son,” returned Mrs. Sennett, "I wouldn’t 


231 


282 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


have minded that, though I wouldn’t have minded 
stayin’ alone, either. Grandpa is the one that needs 
company. I’m kind of ashamed of you boys, leavin’ 
him alone so much. One of you should go over there 
two or three times a week and spend the afternoon 
with him. He’s just advanced us another three hun¬ 
dred dollars, and neither you nor Tom has even 
thanked him.” 

"That’s right,” said Elmer contritely. "One of us 
will go right over, to-morrow afternoon. Three hun¬ 
dred dollars! Goodness, I hope that will do us.” 

"It ought to take care of all our expenses until the 
lobsters are sold,” nodded the mother. "A pound 
costs a great deal of money, with you boys buyin’ 
every day. I hope nothing happens.” 

Elmer answered more cheerfully than he felt, and 
presently went to bed. Next morning he started back 
for the pound, so worried over the shorts which had 
been planted in it that he forgot to take along a letter 
that had come the day before. 

"Any mail?” demanded Tom, as Elmer came into 
the hut. 

"Yes, but I forgot it.” 

"Forgot it, did you!” exclaimed the younger 
brother, in disgust. "Who was it from?” 

"Bart. He’s been to the jail in Wiscasset and had 
a talk with his father, and his father claims he didn’t 
kill Pete Osier, and doesn’t know anything about it.” 

"What’s Bart doing, in between times?” 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


283 


"He’s got a job in a restaurant, washing dishes for 
his board. Mr. Tucker, the lawyer, has given him a 
room in his house.” 

The boys turned to their morning’s work. There 
was the hut to clean up, firewood to chop and carry 
in, beans to put on for dinner, and ashes to sprinkle 
on the wharf. It was really winter now, thin slip¬ 
pery ice on the wharf, snow half blotting out the 
black trees on the surrounding hills, and the water 
in the cove a choppy, gray, cold desert. By ten 
o’clock the fishermen were beginning to come in, 
most of them with rather small catches, but none of 
them grumbling about it. For the price had risen 
to thirty-four cents a pound, and that was worth 
while. 

"It sure is,” declared Ed Knipe, holding his chilled 
red hands up in his armpits, "an’ don’t you boys run 
away with the idea it ain’t!” 

"Yes, it’s a good price,” said Elmer, and paid him 
his money. 

Knipe started to say something more, but Elmer 
seized a broom and began noisily to sweep off the 
wharf. The man went away, leaving the boys to 
stare gloomily at each other. They knew, from past 
experience, what had been on the tip of Knipe’s 
tongue. He meant to observe that their father would 
soon be home, and that he certainly would be pleased 
to find his sons in possession of some nine thousand 
pounds of lobsters. 


284 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"I wish these fellows wouldn’t mention Dad,” 
grumbled Tom, "or lobsters either.” 

"They don’t mean anything by it,” said the elder 
brother, "but just the same I hate it as much as you 
do. Just think of Father coming home and finding 
our pound loaded with maybe four or five hundred 
shorts. The fine on that alone would amount to at 
least two thousand dollars.” 

It was a depressing outlook, and by common con¬ 
sent they said no more about it. After dinner Tom 
went to the store for supplies, then about three o’clock 
he set out for Grandpa Sennett’s, to spend an hour 
or two with the captain. 

"For king’s sake!” cried the ancient mariner, as 
his grandson came into the painfully hot kitchen, "I 
thought you fellers had tuck out for the Indies! I 
ain’t seen hide nor hair of ye, since Adam was an 
oakum boy.” 

Tom apologized for neglecting him, and took off 
his coat and sweater, his eyes drifting idly about the 
room. Back against the farther wall stood a radio, 
with its battery, tubes, and wiring in a sad jumble. 

"Oh, I was tryin’ to git her geared up,” explained 
Cap’n Len, "but I cal’late she’s busted, chock to the 
handle. I couldn’t even git a yip out of ’er.” 

"I’ll try it,” said the boy. "Maybe we can get the 
news broadcast, at four o’clock.” 

"Wal, now, you!” beamed the old captain, and 
leaned forward in his chair to watch the proceedings. 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


285 


"So that's what that little dingus is fer, is it! Blow 
my shirt if I knowed what to do with it. I jest fig- 
gered it was a kind of a ’pendix, an 5 wa’n’t no good fer 
nothin’!” 

The radio was soon in running order, and at four 
o’clock Tom sat down to try for the news. It began 
with national politics, jumped to a basket-ball game 
in New York, and settled down to items from the 
State of Maine. The President had been invited to 
visit Bar Harbor next summer, there was a fire in 
Waterville; then they were startled to hear the name 
of Randall. 

"At Wiscasset,” the voice ran on, "George F. Ran¬ 
dall, recently arrested in connection with the disap¬ 
pearance of Pete Osier at Pelly’s Cove, was given a 
preliminary hearing this morning. In the absence of 
bail the prisoner was remanded to jail. Next week 
Randall is expected, according to a statement by the 
prosecuting attorney, to be indicted by the grand 
jury, formally charged with the murder of Osier.” 

"That’s a shame,” commented Tom. "Do you 
think he did it, Grandpa?” 

"Don’t ask me,” was the reply. "All in God’s world 
ever I knowed about George Randall is that he was 
always a wild one, and kind of techy, if you riled 
him. He could of done it, of course. I remember 
one time I was on a vessel with him, and he knocked a 
feller down with a big engine wrench and then 
jumped over the side and swum to shore. Lyin’ at 


286 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


anchor at Greenport, Long Island, we was, that time. 
Listen, what’s that they’re sayin’ now? Maybe it’s 
somethin’ about Henry, up there to Augusty.” 

“. . . to-day Mrs. Winifred Leeman reported to 
the constable at Round Pond that she had found her 
cat, lost since last Thursday.” 

Grandpa Sennett let out a snort of disapproval: 
“There’s news for ye! Woman found her pussy cat! 
Must be hard up for somethin’ to say when they waste 
time on things like that. Why don’t they tell what’s 
goin’ on up to the capital, I’d like to know. There’s 
somethin’ that affects every lobsterman on the coast 
of Maine, an’ they’ve plumb forgot it. First thing 
ever we know this country . . 

“Augusta,” said the radio voice abruptly. “Inter¬ 
est here to-day is centered in the proposal of Sen¬ 
ator Fales to repeal the bond law covering the buy¬ 
ing and transporting of lobsters. The senator de¬ 
clared himself hopeful, but admits that the dealers 
have a powerful lobby working to retain the 
law. Action is expected this week on the repeal 
measure.” 

“Humph,” nodded Cap’n Len, “that’s better’n 
nothin’, as the feller says when he come home from 
fishin’ with a minnow, but why didn’t they say 
more’n that? Politics is a slow game, I cal’late.” 

So it seemed. Tom went home, and found that his 
mother had searched the morning paper without find¬ 
ing anything more than a brief mention of what Sen- 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


287 


ator Fales had said to the radio-news representative. 

Thus it went. The days passed, with only the 
most meager encouragement from Augusta. Senator 
Fales had presented his repeal measure, but it was 
meeting with fierce and determined opposition. The 
Ring seemed confident of winning, as Elmer realized 
the next time he went across the cove for gas. Fred 
Whipple received him with a broad smile, and a man¬ 
ner that fairly reeked with assurance. 

"'Been followin’ the news, Elmer?” he inquired. 

"Yes.” 

"Looks like your dad’s bit off more’n he can chew, 
don’t it?” 

"Why, no, I don’t think so.” 

"Oh, that so!” laughed the lobster buyer. "And 
you say you been followin’ the news! Flo ho ho, ho 
ho ho ho!” 

As a matter of fact, Elmer had rather given up the 
practice of following the daily progress of events at 
Augusta. It was too discouraging. The dealers’ lobby 
was building up a stubborn resistance among the 
legislators, and Senator Fales had too many things on 
his mind to be able to give all of his time to the lobster 
law. Now and then the boys heard over the radio, 
and through the newspapers, that their father was 
putting up a stiff fight, but so far as Elmer and Tom 
could make out this fight was not proving enough to 
swing the debate the right way. For that reason the 
brothers had formed the habit of stopping at Grandpa 


288 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Sennett’s only after the news broadcast was over, lest 
the news of the day prove to be bad news. 

"Wal, they’re through rantin’ an’ argyfyin’ about 
that bond law,” Cap’n Len announced, one after¬ 
noon. ''Comes up for a vote to-morrow.” 

"Good,” said Elmer, rather feebly. 

He went home to find his mother nervous with 
anxiety, and the next morning he returned to the 
lobster pound to find Tom even more worried. The 
fishermen began to come in, some of them noncom¬ 
mittal, others frankly doubtful of what the day 
would bring in Augusta. 

"My opinion is jest like this,” declared Ab York, 
lingering in the hut to warm himself. "That bond 
law is a bad one, and it ort to be hove overboard, 
clean to Kingdom Come, but I don’t believe them 
fellers up to Augusta will ever do it.” 

"Don’t you?” inquired Tom. 

"No, sir, I don’t! I think maybe it’ll be repealed 
some day, about the time the heft of us is so old an’ 
stiff we couldn’t haul a trap if somebody was to put 
the warp in our hands, but I don’t believe it’ll be this 
year, or next one, either. Henry he’s done his level 
best, I cal’late, but I’m afraid it’s no use.” 

"We’ll soon know,” said Elmer quietly. 

That was the last the boys said about it, even after 
York had left, and they were free to speak their 
minds. It was Tom’s day to go home and spend the 
night with their mother. He waited until half past 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


289 


four and set out in the motor boat, wondering what 
to do about stopping in at his grandfather's. 

Rounding the neck of land which separated the 
lobster pound from Cap’n Len’s place, he reluctantly 
steered for the wharf. Then he put the boat in neu¬ 
tral. Grandpa Sennett had just come out the shed 
door and was stumping off through the woods, cane 
in hand, and fur cap drawn tightly down over his 
ears. He had neither seen nor heard Tom. Probably 
he was going over to one of the neighbors, to pass the 
time, or to take supper. 

"Good," muttered the boy, and went slowly on 
toward his mooring. "The longer I put off that bad 
news the better HI like it." 

He let the boat go along in low gear, took his time 
in making her fast, and rowed leisurely ashore in the 
skiff. Still reluctant, he went along the path that 
would bring him home in twenty minutes, save that 
this time he dragged the twenty minutes out to more 
than thirty. 

At last he came within sight of the house. The 
blinds were up, and there was a light in the kitchen. 
He could see his mother moving to and fro, getting 
things on the table for supper. Tom came closer, his 
eyes intent upon her, in the effort to foretell the news 
which she had probably heard by this time. But he 
could read nothing from her actions; she appeared as 
usual. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Tom finally went 


290 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


in. His mother turned and looked at him. And in 
that first exchange of glances the boy felt a stab of 
despair. There was a soft wetness about his mother’s 
eyes. She had been crying. 

"It failed,” he whispered. 

"No, it passed,” she answered. 

"Passed? But you were crying before I came in.” 

"I cried because I was glad,” said Mrs. Sennett, and 
as if to prove it she began to cry again, explaining in 
happy spurts: "Isn’t it grand? The law was repealed 
by a big majority. Grandpa came and let me know. 
He heard it over the radio at four o’clock, so he came 
and told me about it. I wanted him to stay for sup¬ 
per, but he wouldn’t, on account of having to tend 
his fire.” 

Tom sank into a chair: "So they repealed it, after 
all.” 

"Yes.” 

The boy was trembling from the reaction, his 
mouth dry, and his wits still clouded. Mrs. Sennett 
got supper on the table. They began to eat, the 
mother gayly and with an excellent appetite, Tom 
like a person in a dream. Toward the end of the meal 
the telephone rang. 

"I’ll answer,” said the mother, and sprang up. 
"Hello.” 

"This is the Western Union at Damariscotta,” an¬ 
swered a voice. 


"Yes.” 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


291 


''Telegram for Mrs. Sennett.” 

"Yes, this is Mrs. Sennett. Please read it.” 

"Augusta, Maine, 3:37 p.m. Repeal bill passed. 
Fight won. Will be home in a few days. Love to 
all. Father.” 

She hung up the receiver, only to find Uncle Joe 
Gammage at the door. Fie had heard the news, and 
had come to congratulate them. Tom heaved a sigh 
of relief: he was glad that the bond law had been 
repealed, but he could not help thinking what an 
anticlimax it would be when his father got home 
and discovered the trick that the Ring had played on 
the pound-keepers. Consequently he was content to 
have Uncle Joe for his mother to talk to, lest he him¬ 
self seem suspiciously dull. 

"I stopped by and told Elmer,” beamed Uncle 
Joe, turning briefly to Tom. "So you needn’t worry 
about that.” 

"Fine.” 

Grandpa Sennett had been the first to offer con¬ 
gratulations, and Uncle Joe was the second, but this 
was only the beginning, as the boys discovered next 
day. One after another the fishermen came up in 
their boats, sometimes with lobsters to sell, some¬ 
times solely for the pleasure of discussing the news. 
And all of them appeared to be pleased, even to lob- 
stermen who had never been well-wishers of the Sen- 
netts. 

"Yes, sir,” declared Crosby Flanna, to the amused 


292 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


surprise of the boys, "I shore am tickled that Henry 
put it across. I always thought that bond law was a 
bad thing, and I says to your father, years ago, I says, 
Henry, we ought to git together, us fishermen, and do 
somethin’ about it. That’s jest what I says, and now 
he’s done it, same as I told him we ort to. I’m goin’ 
to turn to an’ cut out every piece in the paper that 
was ever in it about Henry, and paste ’em up on the 
wall, for folks to look at. That shows how I feel, I 
cal’late. . . . Wonder if this won’t send up the price 
of lobsters, d’ye have any idea?” 

"Too soon to tell,” laughed Tom. 

"It’ll help, in the long run, of course,” added El¬ 
mer. 

"Shore, shore. Wal, I got to be gittin’ along. Here 
comes Nat Gilbert. I s’pose he’ll try to claim credit 
for what me an’ Henry figgered out.” 

Nat Gilbert came up with more congratulations, 
satisfied, however, to express his pleasure with the 
repeal of the bond law, and ask when their father 
was coming home. Gilbert stayed ten minutes and 
gave way to Sam Murray, who climbed up on to the 
wharf just as a strange boat came in sight, out in the 
middle of the cove. 

"What boat is that?” asked Elmer, glad of some¬ 
thing impersonal to talk about. 

"Jury boat,” answered Murray. He turned to look 
at it. The strange boat was really a thirty-five-foot 
motor launch, of the sort that is often kept by the 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


293 


owners of summer hotels for the purpose of taking 
their guests on excursions. To-day it contained fif¬ 
teen or sixteen men, warmly bundled up against the 
bitter wind. "'Jurymen on that Randall case,” Mur¬ 
ray explained. "Look like a flock of rusticators, don’t 
they?” 

"They’re jurymen?” asked Tom, in a puzzled tone. 
"What are they doing here?” 

"Lookin’ for evidence, I cal’late. They ain’t the 
reg’lar jury, they’re the grand jury. The sheriff and 
the prosecutin’ attorney has got ’em in tow, goin’ 
around dif’rent places where Osier was, so they can 
make up their minds if there’s enough evidence to 
indict Randall. Well, your father won his case, I see. 
I cal’late he’ll be cornin’ home soon, won’t he?” 

This familiar question sent a wave of irritation 
over Tom, and after their visitor had departed he 
complained bitterly to Elmer. 

"Why can’t they keep still?” he said. "Here we are 
with our pound loaded with shorts, and nothing we 
can do but wait and wait and wait until it’s time to 
take them out and pay a couple of thousand dol¬ 
lars fine, and all these fellows keep dinning it into our 
ears about Dad, and when is he coming home, and all 
that. Dad’s coming home is what I’m trying not to 
think about!” 

"Yes, but look at it from their side,” chided El¬ 
mer. "These people don’t know there’s anything 
wrong. They think we’re happy as clams, and tickled 


294 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


to answer all the questions they can think of about 
Father.” 

Tom stuck it out until noon; then as they fin¬ 
ished dinner they heard another boat coming, and 
peeped out to see Ed Knipe approaching. 

"Another one,” growled the younger brother. "I’m 
going to get out of here. Eli go over and get some 
gas.” 

"Sure, go ahead.” 

Seizing his hat and coat, Tom hurried into the 
boat, pretended he did not hear Knipe’s shouted 
query as to when their father would be home, and 
steered across the cove to Whipple’s pier. Half a 
dozen fishermen were there, lounging about and chat¬ 
ting, and as the boy brought his boat to a standstill 
one of them grinned and called out: 

"You’ll get extra good measure to-day, Tom.” 

"How’s that?” 

"Why, don’t you know Whipple wants to go in 
partners with ye, now that the bond law’s slid out 
from under him? Ha ha ha ha!” 

Fred Whipple tried to laugh, but it was plainly a 
failure. 

"Well, how many gallons?” he asked the boy. 

"Five.” 

"Yes,” continued Whipple’s tormentor, "the 
smacks will be in here next year thicker’n gulls around 
a bait bar’l.” 

"Thick as fish wardens around Henry Sennett’s 


NEWS FROM AUGUSTA 


295 


pound when he takes out his lobsters, you mean!” 
retorted Whipple. 

"Eh? What do you mean?” 

"Just what I said. Sennett is going to laugh out 
of the other side of his mouth when he sells his lob¬ 
sters. That pound is full o’ shorts.” 

The loungers grinned incredulously. 

"Ask Tom Sennett, if you doubt it,” demanded 
Whipple. 

"What about it, Tom, is that so?” asked one of the 
Littlefields. 

"Pooh,” said the boy, fighting to keep himself in 
hand, "you folks don’t believe everything that Fred 
Whipple says, do you? How does he know what’s in 
our pound?” 

Another laugh rose against the lobster buyer, and 
at that he broke out spitefully: 

"We’ll see about it, soon as Sennett comes home. 
There’s hundreds of shorts in that pound, and when 
he starts to take ’em out there’ll be wardens right 
there to take charge of him. Wait till he sees the 
size of his fine and loses his license to buy, and then 
ask him who’s the best man in this tussle.” 

The lobster buyer stopped. The men were no 
longer listening to him. Everybody appeared to be 
watching something out on the surface of the cove. 
A motor boat was coming, as fast as its engine would 
bring it, and the owner was waving frantically to 
the crowd at Whipple’s pier. 


2 96 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"It’s Frank Thompson!’’ exclaimed some one. 
"What’s come over him?” 

The boat roared closer. Thompson shut off the 
engine, careened wildly, and lay bobbing on the 
water. 

"Pete Osier!” he yelled excitedly. "They’ve found 
his body!” 


i 


Chapter Nineteen 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


P ete Osier has been found!” 

The news electrified the crowd at Whipple’s 
pier, Tom with the others. Frank Thompson became 
the center of excited attention. Everyone hurled 
questions at him, while he, in turn, answered them 
as fast as he could, and sometimes even in advance of 
their queries: 

"The grand jury found him.” 

"When was it?” 

"Just a few minutes ago.” 

"Where?” 

"On Halfway Ledge.” 

"Still there, is he?” 

"Yes, they say so.” 

"Come on, folks, let’s go see! This is somethin’ we 
got to look into. Feller disappearin’, an’ then turnin’ 
up dead on Halfway Ledge! I guess likely!” 

The fishermen were piling into their boat and 


297 


298 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


noisily taking off down the cove in the direction of 
Halfway Ledge. Tom got his own engine going, but 
instead of at once setting out for the spot where 
Osier had been found, he first chugged across the 
water toward the lobster pound, to tell Elmer the 
news. 

The younger brother dashed up to find Ab York at 
the pound, Elmer eagerly asking him questions. 

"They’ve found Pete Osier!” Elmer called to his 
brother. 

"Don’t I know it! I came to tell you. Out at Half¬ 
way Ledge.” 

"Grand jury run into him,” added Ab York. "They 
was bargin’ around, sort of gittin’ the loom of the 
land in that Randall case, an’ there he was, washed 
up ’tween the rocks. I’m goin’ over, I cal’late.” 

"You go with him, Elmer,” invited Tom. "I’ll 
watch the pound.” 

"Oh, go yourself,” returned the elder brother. 
"You’re dying to go, and I don’t care anything about 
it.” 

Tom accepted this suggestion without further argu¬ 
ment. Calling to Elmer that he would be right back 
and tell him about it, the boy hastened off in the 
motor boat, close behind Ab York. The cove was 
alive with popping engines, fishermen converging on 
the barren chain of rocks which were known locally 
as Halfway Ledge. It was a natural place for a body 
to wash ashore, for the ledge extended out into the 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


299 


cove at right angles to the tide, in such a way as to 
stand a good chance of intercepting any object that 
might be floating out to sea. Also, it was natural that 
the body had not been found before now, because 
Halfway Ledge lay on the farther side of the cove, 
in an area so dangerous for boats at low water that 
lobstermen habitually kept away from it. 

A few minutes more, and York shut off his engine, 
Tom quickly following suit. The bleak gray rocks of 
Halfway Ledge were just ahead, their monotonous 
outline relieved by at least a dozen bobbing motor 
boats. There was the launch in which the grand jury 
sat restlessly at attention, and besides the launch there 
were such curious onlookers as Jard Kittredge, the 
Littlefields, Ed Knipe, George Danforth, and of course 
Ab York and Tom. The boy craned ahead, puzzled 
at the inaction of the scene. 

"Where’s the body?” he whispered. 

George Danforth turned round to answer: "Still 
wedged in ’tween them rocks. You can’t see it from 
here. It’s jest beyond them mussels. I cal’late them 
mussel shells is what helped to hold it, they’re so kind 
o’ rough an’ scratchy.” 

"Why is it still in the rocks?” asked Tom, a little 
shocked. "Can’t they get it out?” 

"Ain’t supposed to, till the coroner comes. The 
sheriff went over to Boothbay for him.” 

"The tide’s a-comin’,” murmured York uneasily. 
"Seems like they ort to git that feller out o’ there.” 


300 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"One more tide won’t hurt him,” replied a grim 
voice from a neighboring boat. 

The talk shifted to the mystery which had sur¬ 
rounded Osier’s disappearance. Some one mentioned 
Randall, and the effect of this latest development upon 
his chance of being acquitted on the charge of mur¬ 
der. 

"I don’t see why Randall has to be connected with 
it,” objected Tom. "Pete Osier could have committed 
suicide.” 

"What for?” said one of the Littlefields. 

"Or he could have fallen out of his boat and 
drowned,” continued the boy. "People do that.” 

"Rusticators do,” grinned Littlefield. "This here 
Pete Osier was a native, you got to remember that. 
No use arguin’ about it, though, till they git the 
body. The body’ll show what happened to him, like 
as not.” 

Everyone fell silent. A boat was approaching from 
the direction of Boothbay, and as the fishermen had 
guessed, it contained the coroner. He sat huddled 
in a big overcoat in the stern of the boat, occasionally 
looking up to yawn, as though the finding of a corpse 
were common everyday business. 

"I cal’late that’s the way he looks at it, all right,” 
murmured a fisherman. "They say that feller can lay 
right down beside a dead body an’ sleep like a baby.” 

The coroner was taken to the launch, where he 
saluted the prosecuting attorney with the air of an 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


301 


old friend. The two held a long consultation, with 
the sheriff as close listener. The jurymen sat stiffly 
at attention, the fishermen waited in their boats, like 
a flock of sea birds that rise and fall on the uneasy 
waves, always close together, yet never touching or 
bumping into one another. 

"Now they’re goin’ to do somethin 5 ,” commented 
a lobsterman, after perhaps twenty-five minutes of 
talk. 

The rowboat which trailed behind the launch as 
a tender was untied and brought alongside. Gingerly 
the prosecuting attorney got into it, followed by the 
sheriff and the coroner. 

"Who’s going to row us?” asked the coroner. 

No one had thought of that. A grin passed over 
the faces of the fishermen. It struck them as comical 
that none of the three grown men in the boat was 
capable of handling it, even though it was no light 
task to maneuver up to the rocks and stay there long 
enough for the coroner to examine the body and then 
remove it. 

"Will one of you men row us?” the sheriff called 
to the lobstermen. "Danforth, how about you or 
Ab?” 

Ab York finally went forward. He got into the 
rowboat, took possession of the oars, listened silently 
to the coroner’s instructions, and made off in the 
direction of the body. The crowd watched tensely, 
while the boat moved closer and closer to the ledge. 


302 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Presently the coroner leaned over the side, studying 
the position of the body, while York skillfully kept 
the boat in position. Ten minutes of this, then they 
ventured still closer, and the coroner and the sheriff 
lifted the body into the rowboat, where it was cov¬ 
ered with a tarpaulin. 

"Look at that warp with him,” said Danforth, as 
the sheriff hauled up several fathoms of rope that 
was evidently attached to the corpse. 

"'There’s a buoy, too!” added Ed Knipe. "It’s Sen- 
nett’s, or I’m a loon.” 

Tom was craning forward, amazed and incredu¬ 
lous. The sheriff had hauled up the last of the rope, 
to find a red and white buoy on the end of it. All 
of which was plainly the property of Henry Sen- 
nett, the buoy being a marker for one of his lobster 
traps, and the rope the accompanying warp. 

"Here’s Sime Cheever,” observed some one, as a 
boat came rapidly up to the scene. "I was wonderin’ 
where he was.” 

The weir-keeper was late, but he made up for 
that. Coming up to the launch just in time to see 
the remains of his nephew transferred to the bigger 
boat, he informed the grand jury that he was the 
dead man’s uncle, and demanded justice. 

"There’ll be justice,” said the prosecuting attorney, 
in a voice of authority. "Stay back out o’ the way. 
You’re not in charge here.” 

"That’s Henry Sennett’s warp and buoy,” declared 



The coroner leaned over the side, studying the position of 

the body. 












SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


30 5 


Cheever, retreating a little. "He had something to do 
with this, or his boys did, anyhow.” 

"I thought it was Randall that did it,” observed 
Ab York, getting back into his own boat. 

"It was all of ’em,” raged Cheever; "the whole 
shootin’ match was in on it. Randall skipped out, 
and Sennett went to Augusta, to try to get clear of it. 
They killed him and trussed him up with that warp.” 

"Well, if there’s enough evidence o’ that,” said the 
sheriff, in a slow deliberate tone, "they’ll be arrested 
for it, don’t you worry.” 

Cheever had just caught sight of Tom, and was 
directing the sheriff’s attention to the boy: 

"Here he is now, here’s one of ’em. Why don’t 
you arrest him? Do you want him to git away, the 
same as his father did? I’d like to know what the law 
is for, if it ain’t to catch murderers.” 

"Oh, hush up,” Ab York advised the infuriated 
weir-keeper. "You’re makin’ a tormented fool of 
yourself, if I must say so.” 

The sheriff paid no further attention to Cheever. 
Nor to Tom. The launch was getting ready to leave, 
much to the annoyance of the weir-keeper. 

"Where you fellers goin’ with Pete?” he shouted. 

"Goin’ to Wiscasset.” 

"I’ll jest go with ye,” declared Cheever, hurrying 
to get his engine started. "I’m goin’ to have my rights, 
or know the reason why. Them Sennetts will get 
what’s cornin’ to ’em, before this is over.” 


306 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


With this parting thrust he went off after the 
launch, leaving Tom confused and uneasy. Most of 
the fishermen were starting away in their boats, but 
Ab York was lingering, and this pleased the boy. 
Tom was afraid that Sime Cheever could use the 
warp and buoy to make trouble, and accordingly he 
wanted to talk to some one about it. And who could 
be better than Ab York, his friend and also a close 
eyewitness of the removal of the body? 

"I’m glad you didn’t leave with the others,” said 
Tom. 

“Wal, I thought I’d better have a little talk with 
ye first,” replied the lobsterman kindly. 

“Yes. What do you think?” 

“Randall will go scot-free,” said York. “That’s the 
first thing I think. No doubt about it, they’ll turn 
him loose.” 

“I’m glad of that, but what makes you think so?” 
asked Tom, uncomfortably. 

“Why, because! Listen, most of you fellers back 
here didn’t see what I saw, up where I was. When we 
took up that body there was a warp snarled around 
it, d’ye see?” 

“Dad’s, wasn’t it?” 

“It don’t make no odds whose it was, far as Ran¬ 
dall’s concerned. I took particular notice of that 
warp, and the way it was snarled was accidental. You 
saw the buoy come up, I cal’late.” 

“Yes.” 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


307 


"And did ye see the rock?” 

"Rock, what rock?” 

"The rock that was tied to the other end of the 
warp. I guess none o’ you fellers seen that, because 
the prosecuting attorney he hauled it into the boat 
right with the body. Don’t ye see how it was with 
Osier? He got tangled in the warp, and the rock 
dragged him under an’ drowned him. Kept him un¬ 
der, too, I cal’late, till some big overgrowed storm or 
other come along an’ washed him up on the ledge 
there. It was an accident, sure as taxes, an’ that’s why 
they’ll let Randall go.” 

The boy’s head was in a roar, yet he was no longer 
in doubt as to the manner of Osier’s death. 

"Osier was drowned that last time he pulled our 
traps,” he nodded. 

"He sure was,” said York grimly. "I don’t want 
to say anything agin dead folks, so we won’t call him 
no names, but anyhow he was tyin’ rocks on to your 
warps there to the last of it, an’ he got ketched in 
his own devilment. I can jest see how it happened, 
because anybody that ever pulled lobsters traps for a 
season has been scared o’ that very thing, gittin’ drug 
down when ye heave the trap overboard and the warp 
starts payin’ out. A fisherman will always kind of 
throw the warp back as he hauls it into the boat, but 
Osier wa’n’t no fisherman, an’ prob’ly he was in a 
hurry, too; anyway he must of tied that great big 
moose of a rock on to the end of the warp, chucked 


308 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


it over the side, an* then the line caught him and drug 
him over. It happened to me, one time when I was a 
greenhorn, and if it hadn’t of been that I got out m’ 
knife an’ cut myself free, down there under the water, 
wal, I cal’late my woman would of been a widder 
before she was married, that’s all there is to that!” 

"That’s how it happened,” Tom kept repeating. 
"That’s just exactly how it happened. He got the 
rocks over at the old Pemaquid Fort that they’ve been 
repairing, because they had holes in them. There was 
still some of them in Cheever’s boat, when they found 
it that time. Everything fits together, doesn’t it?” 

"Fits? I cal’late it does. Now I got to go. I ain’t 
no rusticator, a-settin’ around in white pants. I got 
work to do, if I can remember what it is, with all 
this hubbub.” 

They parted, York going off home, Tom returning 
to the lobster pound, where, as he had expected, El¬ 
mer had already heard most of the story. The younger 
brother told him about the rock on one end of the 
warp, sighing, when they had finished discussing it: 

"Talk about excitement! I think this is enough for 
one day.” 

"Is that so?” smiled Elmer. "Well, wait until I 
tell my story. You’ve been gadding around all morn¬ 
ing, and leaving me here like a stay-at-home, but 
just the same I’ve heard some big news that you 
haven’t.” 

"What is it?” 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


309 


"Oh, I 3 m afraid you’ve had enough excitement for 
one day,” teased his brother. 

"You tell me!” threatened Tom. 

Elmer grew sober again: "It’s about Father. He’s 
coming home to-morrow. And how I dread it.” 

"So do I,” agreed Tom. "It’ll be great to see him 
again, and have him home and all that, but now we 
won’t be able to keep it to ourselves any longer, about 
the shorts in our pound. We’ll have to tell him.” 

"Yes, we’ll have to tell him . . . and spoil every¬ 
thing. We’ve got to wait until after the celebration, 
though. He’s entitled to that much, I hope.” 

"Celebration? What are you talking about.” 

"That’s part of my news,” said Elmer. "The fisher¬ 
men are all going to go up to Wiscasset and meet the 
train there, to give him a welcome. He won’t ex¬ 
pect anybody until the train gets to Damariscotta, 
so it’ll be a surprise. Uncle Joe was here and told me. 
You and I are supposed to take Mom and Grandpa, 
and Grandpa is to make a speech at the train. Uncle 
Joe is going to watch the pound while we’re gone.” 

"Talk about excitement,” said Tom again. "I’m 
afraid this is too much for one day.” 

"There’ll be more to-morrow,” Elmer reminded 
him. "You’d better go hunt up some flags, or folks 
will think our boat doesn’t belong in the procession.” 

This reference to flags made the younger brother 
stare, and well it might. Pelly’s Cove rarely went in 
for such gay things as flags and bunting. The natives 


310 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


left celebrations pretty much to rusticators, and other 
city folk. 

Now, however, there was a special reason for re¬ 
joicing. A fisherman from Pelly’s Cove had won a 
long and bitter fight against the hated bond law. The 
law had oppressed them for many years, and its re¬ 
peal meant an easier, better, richer life for the numer¬ 
ous families that lived from catching and selling lob¬ 
sters. Pelly’s Cove was no longer a mere "hole in the 
beach”; it had become famous throughout the State 
of Maine, and its people therefore meant to honor 
the man who was responsible for this. Henry Sennett 
would come home to find himself a hero, even in the 
eyes of the men who had once scoffed at his attempts 
to resist the Lobster Ring. 

"You boys must dress up,” Mrs. Sennett told El¬ 
mer and Tom the next morning, as they sat about in 
sweaters and rubber boots. "I’m about ready. All I 
have to do is to get on my silk dress.” 

"No, we’re not supposed to dress up,” said Elmer. 
"You’re to wear your silk dress, but we’re to go as 
we are, Uncle Joe told us. All the men folks are to 
show up in their everyday clothes.” 

"My soul!” exclaimed the mother, in mild horror. 

"It’s to show people in Wiscasset that we’re fisher¬ 
men, and proud of it,” Tom explained. "I call it a 
great idea, myself.” 

"Well, maybe,” said Mrs. Sennett doubtfully. 

She finished dressing, and they started down the 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


311 


path toward the shore. It was a cold winter day, over¬ 
cast and threatening snow, yet no one noticed that. 
The mother went along as briskly as the boys, chat¬ 
ting happily. 

"I can’t get used to it,” she declared, "it’s so won¬ 
derful. Everybody has such nice things to say about 
your father, I’m proud enough to burst. It said in 
the paper, day before yesterday, that Senator Fales 
gave all the credit to him, because if he hadn’t started 
the fight nobody would have finished it. I wonder 
if Grandpa will have yesterday’s paper. His comes 
earlier than ours, since he’s on that other route.” 

Nothing seemed to be lacking that day. Grandpa 
had a paper, and his son’s picture was on the front 
page, under the caption: henry sennett, cham¬ 
pion OF MAINE LOBSTERMEN. 

"Don’t look much like him,” observed Cap’n Len, 
"but then I cal’late it changes folks, livin’ up there to 
Augusty. There’s a write-up that goes with the pic¬ 
ture, but I couldn’t read much of it, the print was so 
wobbly.” 

"I’ll take it and read it to you on the way to Wis- 
casset,” said Mrs. Sennett. "Hadn’t we better get 
started?” 

It was early; nevertheless, everyone was of the opin¬ 
ion that they had better go, They returned to the 
motor boat, waited for the captain to admire her 
flags, and set out for Wiscasset. Now and then they 
waved to neighbors and friends, all on their way to 


312 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


the home-coming celebration. Only Grandpa did not 
wave. When the article in the paper had been read 
to him he withdrew to himself, mumbling and gestur¬ 
ing until Tom laughingly inquired what it was all 
about. 

"Fm a-learnin’ my speech,” explained the ancient 
mariner. "It’s a job, too. I’d rather split cod for a 
fortni’t than memorize this thing, but I can’t stow 
it, much as I’d like to, because they depend on me to 
tell Henry what’s what, and why not.” 

"Say it to us,” suggested Elmer. "That’ll give you 
a chance to practice.” 

"Wal, maybe,” said the grandfather, and with a 
prodigious clearing of his throat, he began: "Henry 
Sennett, on behalf of the lobstermen of Pelly’s Cove 
I bid you welcome, and have the honor to inform you 
that Maine is proud of the man that has revived a 
dyin’ industry to a healthy and thrivin’ condition 
once more. I . . . wal, that’s all I got lernt, so far.” 

"That’s fine,” said Mrs. Sennett. "Now we won’t 
bother you, so’s you can learn the rest of it.” 

Cap’n Len pulled out his speech and fell to studying 
it, grave and industrious, until they arrived at Wis- 
casset. And then he was forced to pocket it and join 
in the general commotion. The village was full of 
people, some of them here for the court session, others 
drawn by the discovery of Pete Osier’s body, many 
more attracted by the home-coming of Henry Sen¬ 
nett. A three-piece band led the way to the railway 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


313 


station, tooting in experimental fashion. Fishermen 
clumped along behind them, comfortable in rubber 
boots and mackinaws. The Sennetts followed the 
crowd, Elmer with his grandfather, Tom with the 
mother. 

"Hello, Tom!” 

It was Bart Randall, hurrying up to greet them. 
He was looking older and thinner than when they had 
last seen him, yet to-day there was a smile of unmis¬ 
takable happiness on his face. 

"Now they’ll let your father out, won’t they?” 
asked Mrs. Sennett. 

"Sure,” said Tom. 

"Yes, they’re goin’ to let him out,” answered Bart. 
"In a few days, Mr. Tucker says. There are some 
formalities to go through with, first. But I’m satis¬ 
fied. Wasn’t that great, the way the grand jury found 
Osier?” 

"Couldn’t have been better,” declared Tom. "How 
have you been?” 

"All right. I thought I’d go to the train with you. 
Pretty nice about your father winnin’ that fight, eh?” 

"Yes,” said Tom, with a significant look that his 
mother did not see. "Now if we could only get out 
of that other —you know. I don’t see how we can, 
though. Do you?” 

"Not yet, I don’t,” admitted Bart, "but things can 
clear up awfully fast, sometimes. It may straighten 
out the way it did with my dad.” 


314 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Mrs. Sennett looked at them with puzzled eyes. 
"What are you two boys talking about?” she de¬ 
manded. "Come, we’ve got to get to the station. I 
think that was the train whistling then.” 

They went on to the station, where the crowd was 
by this time so great that they had trouble in locating 
Elmer and his grandfather. At last they found them, 
far up on the edge of the platform and surrounded by 
a dozen stalwart fishermen, whose task it was to keep 
a cleared space for the feeble little captain and prevent 
him from being trampled or jostled. The train was 
coming! 

The band struck up, unmindful of the fact that 
the noise of the train was drowning it out. With a 
grinding of brakes the cars came to a halt. Every¬ 
one craned to see. A few strangers got off, looking 
very much surprised at the press of people. Then 
there was a torrent of shouting and calling, with the 
band bravely continuing the struggle to make itself 
heard. Henry Sennett had appeared on the plat¬ 
form. 

"Three cheers for Henry!” yelled Ab York, and 
the band quit for good. 

The boys gazed at their father. He seemed to lin¬ 
ger on the steps for a moment, his stern weather¬ 
beaten face twitching with emotion. Very soon he 
would be his old familiar taciturn self, but for this 
brief time he could expand with feeling, as sensitive 
and responsive as a soft-shell lobster that has just 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


315 


molted, and has not yet grown another hard cover¬ 
ing. There he stood, smiling at his friends. 

"Howdy, folks! 5 ’ he said. 

The racket died away. Grandpa’s bodyguard was 
escorting him forward. They cleared a space for him, 
and then while everyone waited expectantly the 
ancient mariner steadied himself with his cane, and 
began: 

"Ahem! On behalf of the lobstermen of Pelly’s 
Cove I bid you welcome, and have the honor . . . uh 
. . . why, Henry Sennett, where in tunkett did you 
git a necktie like tloatl” 

The crowd broke into laughter so boisterous that 
Cap’n Len had no chance to go on with his address. 
Henry Sennett came down on to the platform, glad 
to escape the embarrassment of a formal welcome. 

"Let the speeches go!” he exclaimed. 

He kissed his wife and shook hands with his father 
and the boys, after which he started for the wharf, 
surrounded by friends and neighbors. At the wharf 
the fishermen scattered, each to his own boat, where¬ 
upon Henry Sennett noticed that Bart Randall was 
still talking to Tom. 

"Well, how are ye, Bart?” he asked. "I hear that 
Osier has been found, and they’ll set your father loose. 
I should go and see him while we’re here. When are 
their visitin’ hours?” 

"Not until to-morrow now,” said Bart. 

"I’ll have to let it go, then. But you tell him to 


316 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


come to our house and stay with us a spell, as soon 
as he’s out. Will you do that?” 

"Yes, sir,” said Bart gratefully, and turned away, 
lest they see how much this invitation had affected 
him. 

The Sennetts got into their boat, the father mur¬ 
muring with satisfaction: 

"Randall will get out of jail without a cent, so we’ll 
sort of lend him a hand. He can help us git out the 
lobsters. Boys, I’ve got in touch with two different 
dealers, one in Portland, and one in Boston. They’re 
cornin’ for our lobsters right after Christmas. How 
many pounds does your book show?” 

"Twelve thousand, nine hundred odd,” said Elmer. 

"That’s fine, boys, that’s fine. I’m proud of ye.” 

"Don’t say that, Dad,” Tom burst out, and before 
the boat had gone another yard he had told the story 
of the short lobsters, briefly and bluntly, and with¬ 
out any attempt to excuse himself and Elmer. 
"There!” he ended, with a miserable glance at his 
astonished father and mother and grandfather, "I’ve 
told you just how it is.” 

"That’s exactly how it happened,” added Elmer. 
"Is there any way out of it, Father?” 

Henry Sennett slowly shook his head. "No,” he 
muttered, "I don’t think there is. I don’t see any 
way at all.” 

"I wonder if it would do any good to write to the 
Fish Commissioner,” said Elmer, in a hesitating voice. 


SHARP CURVE AHEAD 


317 


"I’ve been thinking of that, but I haven’t said any¬ 
thing about it, until now. Maybe if you explained 
it to him —” 

"No,” declared Henry Sennett firmly, "I’ll not 
do that. Not out of stubbornness, understand, but 
because I’m as sure as I’m sure of my two feet under 
me that it wouldn’t do a bit o’ good. He wouldn’t 
listen to anything Yd say. So far as he’s concerned I’m 
just a fisherman that’s been convicted of saving fif¬ 
teen shorts; the commissioner refused to restore my 
license when I tried to explain that , so I cal’late he 
wouldn’t pay no attention to my tryin’ to explain 
this business of shorts in the pound. He’d only jest 
think I was crawfishin’, because I’d gone and done 
it, and now for some reason I’m afraid of bein’ caught 
with shorts when it comes time to take ’em out. It 
wouldn’t be any use for me to try to tell the Fish 
Commissioner about it; the most he would do would 
be to ask for our proof against the fellers that done 
it, and I don’t figger we could give any proof, not 

legal proof, anyway. We’ll have to take our medi- 
>> 


cine. 


Chapter Twenty 


AN ORDEAL AND A SURPRISE 


C hristmas was not a particularly happy day at 
the Sennett cottage. It was good to have the 
father home again, and it was very satisfying to 
realize that the hated bond law was at last repealed, 
but then there were the short lobsters which no one 
was quite able to forget. True, no one mentioned 
them, and yet it was that very silence which was per¬ 
haps hardest for the boys to bear. After that first 
talk, on the way home from Wiscasset, their father 
had never said another word about the trick that 
the Lobster Ring had played on them. He had lapsed 
into silence, and it was this silence that had begun to 
oppress his sons. 

"Do you think he blames us?” Tom asked his 
brother, the day after Christmas. 

"No, I don’t think so,” said Elmer thoughtfully. 
"We are to blame, you know, but I don’t believe he’s 
thinking of that. I guess what’s troubling him is the 
same thing that’s troubling us.” 


318 


AN ORDEAL AND A SURPRISE 


319 


"Having to empty the pound, you mean?” 

"Yes.” 

The pound was to be emptied of its lobsters before 
New Year’s, and accordingly the Sennetts would have 
to face their ordeal within five more days, at the most. 
Another gloomy day went by, then there was a wel¬ 
come diversion. Bart’s father turned up in Pelly’s 
Cove, exonerated of all blame in the death of Pete 
Osier. With him came Bart, who came immediately 
to the Sennetts to thank them for the invitation to 
stay there. 

"Come in,” said Henry Sennett cordially. "Where 
is your father?” 

"He’s at the store,” replied Bart. "We can’t come, 
though. It would be imposing on you. Thank you 
just the same.” 

"We’ll see about that,” said Henry Sennett, and 
with Tom and Bart he went over to the store, where 
he found Randall, and said to him: "You’d better come 
stay with us for a while. We’re emptyin’ the pound 
in two or three days, and we’ll need both of you. 
It would be a big favor if you and Bart would 
help.” 

That settled it. The Randalls moved in with their 
scant baggage, Bart pleased to be with Tom and Elmer 
again, and his father eager to get to work and forget 
the terrible experience through which he had just 
passed. Thanks to his lawyer’s reasoning, Randall 
was now entirely free of his old dread of McLain. 


320 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


Also, it heartened him to see that the people of Pelly’s 
Cove treated him as if nothing had happened. He was 
a new man, quick to see that Mrs. Sennett’s wood box 
needed filling, and eager to do errands. It was Bart’s 
father who reported the arrival of a strange smack, 
the first to enter the cove in competition with the 
Lobster Ring. 

"Ben Foster’s, from Portland, that is,” nodded 
Henry Sennett. "He’s agreed to take most of our 
lobsters. The rest will go to a Boston man.” 

"When do we start emptying the pound?” asked 
Elmer. 

"That’s something I can’t tell ye,” was the answer. 
"I’ve got to wait till Ikey Jones gives the word.” 

This reference to the fish warden deepened the 
gloom which lay over the Sennetts and their friends. 
Elmer went off to the pound, to relieve Tom and 
Bart. He found them agog with excitement, not so 
much because of the Ben Foster smack that had an¬ 
chored near by as because of the arrival of the "Boston 
man.” The buyer from Massachusetts had come in a 
big red motor truck, bumping down through the 
woods to announce that he intended to buy as many 
of their lobsters as he could get, and haul them over 
the highway to Boston. It was a new method to the 
boys, and they did not stop questioning the new¬ 
comer until he had explained everything, including 
his plan of carrying the lobsters dry in crates, and 
stopping occasionally to "give them a drink,” that is, 


AN ORDEAL AND A SURPRISE 321 

put them briefly in salt water in order to restore their 
freshness and vitality. 

"Where’s your father?” asked the truckman, and 
then he pointed to a man in an approaching motor 
boat. "Is that Sennett?” 

Tom looked, and shook his head: 

"No, that’s the fish warden, Ikey Jones.” 

The warden came into the hut, nodded to the 
stranger, and asked for Henry Sennett. 

"He’s home, patching our drag-nets,” said Elmer. 
"Do you want to talk to him?” 

"No, you boys will do, if you’ll give him a message.” 

"Sure, what is it?” 

"Tell him it’s all right to start gittin’ out his lob¬ 
sters the first thing in the mornin’. I’ve just had a 
letter from the commissioner. He’ll be at my house 
to-night, and I’ll bring him over in the mornin’.” 

"The commissioner!” exclaimed the truckman. 
"You mean the Fish Commissioner?” 

"Yes,” said Jones frankly, "this pound is planted 
with shorts, and we’ve been waitin’ for the com¬ 
missioner to come and see ’em taken out.” 

"Phew!” whistled the man from Boston, and looked 
at the downcast boys. "I don’t want any shorts.” 

"Don’t worry,” retorted the warden, "you won’t 
git any. I’ll take care of that kind.” 

Jones soon left, and presently Tom offered to go 
home with the truckman, so that he could talk to 
his father and make arrangements for the next day. 


322 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


They started out in the motor boat, the Boston man 
observing, as he caught sight of a vessel pushing into 
the cove from the open sea: 

"What kind of a boat is that?” 

"Lobster smack,” said Tom. 

"Another one? You fellers won’t have enough 
lobsters to go round, will ye?” 

"That one won’t get any of our lobsters,” was the 
grim answer. "It’s the Portland smack that buys for 
the Ring. A man by the name of McLain runs her.” 

It seemed, at first, a mere coincidence that McLain 
should be in Pelly’s Cove at the exact time that the 
Sennetts were to empty their pound. Yet it was not 
a coincidence, as they heard that evening. Ab York 
came over to the Sennett cottage after supper, to 
warn them that McLain was to be at the pound next 
morning, to see the lobsters come out. 

"Just to enjoy himself, I cal’late,” said York. 
"From the gossip-talk over to the store he’s been in 
touch with the commissioner’s office all along, so he 
knowed just when you’d be gittin’ permission to go 
ahead. He’ll be there, all right.” 

"Let him,” was the terse answer. "You be there, 
too, will ye, Ab? We’ll need another man.” 

"Be there!” exclaimed York. "I cal’late I will!” 

Tom had listened to this conversation in painful 
silence. There was nothing he could say. The only 
thing to do was to wait for morning to come, and 
take what came with it. 


AN ORDEAL AND A SURPRISE 323 

"Good night,” he said, rising to his feet. "I think 
I’ll go to bed.” 

"Yes, get some sleep,” advised York. "Hard day 
to-morrow, especially with them shorts in the pound 
that your dad’s been tellin’ me about.” 

It was the worst thing that Ab York could have 
said, for Tom had just about succeeded in putting the 
shorts out of his mind, and now the whole sorry af¬ 
fair was plaguing him again. He put in a wretched 
night, and rose, next morning, as full of despair as 
ever. 

Breakfast was on the table before the sun had risen. 
It was going to be a busy day. Mrs. Sennett stood at 
the stove frying eggs; her husband and Tom and Ran¬ 
dall sat down to eat, Elmer and Bart being still on 
duty at the pound. 

"I wonder if the commissioner is here?” said Ran¬ 
dall, after a long silence. 

"No chance of his not bein’ here, I guess,” answered 
Henry Sennett. 

"Eat, Tom,” said the mother, sliding another egg 
on to his plate. 

"Oh, I can’t eat!” he burst out. "All I can think 
about is those shorts. Why, there may be a thousand 
of them in there. That would be five thousand dollars 
fine! Just think of it.” 

"No, don't think of it,” said the father, in a steady 
tone. "What’s done is done, so there’s no use talkin’ 
about it. Let the commissioner do his duty, and when 


324 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


he’s through with us we’ll just start in all over again.” 

"'But think of the disgrace to you!” cried Tom. "I 
can just see the Ring putting a big piece in the papers 
about it. They’ll say you were breaking the law at 
the pound at the same time that you were telling 
everyone in the State of Maine that they were crooked. 
It’s awful!” 

"Don’t say any more,” said the father sternly. 
"Eat. We’ve got to go.” 

It was impossible for Tom to swallow a mouthful, 
but he obediently messed around with his eggs, and 
then rose to accompany his father and Randall to the 
shore. At the fish-house they took up an armful of 
shovels, selected several large baskets, tied ropes on 
to the drag-net which they had brought down from 
the house, and proceeded to the lobster pound. 

"We’re late,” observed Randall, as they came in 
sight of it. 

Henry Sennett nodded, without speaking. There 
was a small crowd on the wharf in front of the little 
hut. Elmer and Bart were there, of course, and in 
addition there were half a dozen men, including a 
tall spare stranger that proved to be the Fish Com¬ 
missioner. The warden had brought him, just as he 
had promised. 

The Sennett boat tied up. Tom and his father and 
Randall went up the ladder. 

"Good morning,” said the commissioner. 

"Good morning,” they answered. 
























AN ORDEAL AND A SURPRISE 327 

Tom cast a resentful glance at McLain. The smack 
captain stood a little way back, talking to Ab York 
and the rival smackman from Portland, Ben Foster. 
The Boston man was in the lee of the hut, complain¬ 
ing of the bitter weather in Maine. 

"Well, Sennett,” called Captain McLain, "I ain’t 
in the market for any of your lobsters, but I don’t 
suppose you object to me watchin’ ’em come out, 
do ye?” 

"You watch all you want to,” returned Sennett. 
without looking at him. 

"Fine, that’s fine,” chuckled the other. 

The commissioner made a noise in his throat. He 
was about to make an announcement. 

"Folks,” he said, "I’m going to be frank. There’s 
supposed to be a great many shorts in this pound. I 
won’t say how I found it out, but I did find it out, 
and that’s why I’m here. Mr. Jones and I are going 
to keep the shorts separate, and deal with the offender 
when we’re certain there has been an offense. The 
rest of the lobsters Mr. Sennett is free to sell, right 
here and now.” 

McLain lit his pipe and blew out a thick lazy 
column of smoke. He was enjoying himself. 

"All right, Mr. Sennett,” said the commissioner, 
after a slight pause, "go ahead and get your lobsters 
out. We’ll examine them as they come up on the 
wharf.” 

The work proceeded in leisurely fashion, for the 


328 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


tide was only half out, and there was not much that 
they could do until it was at its lowest ebb. Henry 
Sennett took charge, with the three boys, Randall, 
and Ab York to help him. The plug was removed 
from the drain pipe, so that the pound would gradu¬ 
ally go dry with the outward-moving tide. Then 
they maneuvered the drag-net into position, hauling 
it slowly over the bottom. It came up with a fair 
number of lobsters in it, though most of them were 
too far into the mud to be reached by this method. 
Tom and Bart untangled the creatures from the net¬ 
ting, throwing them on to the wharf, as the com¬ 
missioner had directed. 

"Measure the doubtful ones,” the commissioner 
said to Ikey Jones, "and put all the shorts in this 
basket.” 

McLain and his rival buyers squatted down to 
watch, Ben Foster and the Boston man interested in 
the size and general condition of the counters, McLain 
grinning over the shorts. 

"Twenty-two,” he counted. 

It was a small number, but unfortunately the work 
of emptying the pound had only just begun. As soon 
as the pound had drained down to mud and rocks 
the drag-net was discarded in favor of rubber boots 
and baskets. The area behind the picket fence was 
alive with the dark, half-hidden bodies of lobsters. 
For a time everyone was busily picking them up; then, 
as they grew scarcer, Henry Sennett went to the 


AN ORDEAL AND A SURPRISE 329 

wharf to start weighing, while Ab York and Randall 
carried the loaded baskets to him, and the three boys 
took shovels and fell to digging. Every upward pull 
of the shovel yielded its quota of lobsters, and some¬ 
times the creatures were so close to the surface that 
the diggers felt them squirming under foot. 

“Another short,” muttered Tom, and tossed it into 
a basket. 

“Eve stopped counting,” confessed Bart. 

“Yes, but they won’t stop up there on the wharf,” 
said Elmer. 

He was mistaken. At the end of two hours they 
heard the loud commanding voice of the Fish Com¬ 
missioner, calling them to attention. The boy* 
straightened up, muddy and tired. They saw that 
something was up, but what it was they could not 
imagine. The buyers stopped loading lobsters, Ran¬ 
dall and Ab York and Henry Sennett looked appre¬ 
hensive, Ikey Jones the warden turned sober. McLain 
seemed to be the only person there who was having 
a good time. 

“Now, folks,” said the commissioner, “Em going to 
give my decision on these shorts. So far we’ve got 
almost two hundred of them, and from the way 
things have been going I imagine there are several 
hundred more in there. But this is enough to prove 
the case. Mr. Sennett, will you examine this par¬ 
ticular short lobster?” 

The commissioner reached into a basket set aside 


330 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


from the others, and took up a lobster. Henry Sen- 
nett examined it, puzzled to know what was wanted 
of him. 

"Do you see this mark? 5 ’ asked the commissioner, 
and pointed out a small cross cut into the under side 
of the jam claw with a knife. 

"Why, yes,” said Sennett. 

"Do you see it?” the commissioner asked McLain. 

"Sure.” 

"I’ll explain that mark,” said the Fish Commis¬ 
sioner sternly. "Some time ago I was notified by 
some one — none of the Sennett family, by the way 
— that the Lobster Ring had been planting short 
lobsters in this pound. Accusations of this general 
nature are of course very common, so without say¬ 
ing anything to either the Ring or the Sennetts I 
checked up. Mr. Jones here got several dozen shorts, 
marked them in this fashion, and saw that they came 
into the possession of a lobsterman who is known to 
be willing to sell such lobsters. These shorts were sold 
to Fred Whipple, and eventually they found their 
way into this pound, as you see. I am glad to say that 
Mr. Sennett is freed from any blame in this matter. 
And I may say, furthermore, that I am going to 
follow his wishes in dealing with the parties that 
committed this contemptible offense.” 


Chapter Twenty-One 


THE WAR IS OVER 


C hristmas had not been a gay day at the Sennett 
cottage, but New Year’s made up for that. There 
was a blaze of birch logs in the little-used fireplace, 
a huge turkey for dinner, and about the table four 
welcome guests: Grandpa, Bart and his father, and 
the Fish Commissioner. 

Everyone ate heartily, joking, and chatting of many 
things, but chiefly of lobsters, because of the over¬ 
whelming importance of the lobster in the lives of 
such people as Henry Sennett and his family. The 
pound was empty, all the counters gone off to market, 
a total of almost thirteen thousand pounds. Ben 
Foster’s smack had taken nine thousand, the truck¬ 
man had taken the others, both buyers paying thirty- 
eight cents a pound, which was a good figure. 

"Well, I’m sorry, but I must go,” said the commis¬ 
sioner, after his third dish of homemade ice cream. 
"I still think you’re making a mistake by not prose- 


331 


332 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


cuting the Ring, Mr. Sennett, for planting those 
shorts on you.” 

"Maybe,” was the answer, "but I’d rather have 
them go on what you might call probation. It will 
help to make them behave. We don’t want to pun¬ 
ish anybody, all we want is fair play.” 

"Probably you’re right,” nodded the commissioner. 
He got into his overcoat, and began to shake hands 
all around. "This has been a great pleasure, I’m sure. 
And I want to congratulate you on the repeal of 
the bond law. The Maine lobsterman still suffers 
from competition with Nova Scotia lobsters, but I 
agree with you that the bond law was the chief 
trouble. Now you’ll have competing smacks in here, 
and good prices again. Well, good-bye, Mrs. Sen¬ 
nett, and thank you for the fine dinner.” 

Mrs. Sennett assured him that it was nothing at 
all, and the whole family saw him to the door. When 
he was gone they returned to the table, to talk and 
rest. There was but one article of food left, namely, 
a last slice of chocolate cake, reserved for Cap’n Len, 
when he felt able to eat it. He eyed it in fond antici¬ 
pation, while the others chatted. 

"Everything has come out just as it should,” sighed 
the mother, weary but happy. 

"Yes,” added Henry Sennett. "We’ve made a good 
profit, and next year we’ll run the pound again. Per¬ 
haps Bart and his father will work for us. We’ll need 
help, if we go into this business on a bigger scale.” 


THE WAR IS OVER 


333 


The Randalls nodded and looked pleased; then 
Elmer observed: 

"There’s only one thing that I can’t understand, 
and that is, who told the commissioner that the 
Ring was dumping lobsters on us.” 

"I’d like to know that, myself,” declared Henry 
Sennett. "Whoever it was, he saved the day for us.” 

Tom was staring at Bart, a growing suspicion in his 
eyes. 

"Look here, Bart Randall!” he cried. "I know who 
did that. You did!” 

"No, I didn’t,” protested Bart, but it was of no 
use. They plied him with questions and accusations 
until he was forced to admit it. 

"Well, did you ever!” exclaimed Mrs. Sennett. 

"Funny you couldn’t have told Elmer and me,” 
said Tom ruefully. 

"I was afraid the commissioner wasn’t going to pay 
any attention,” answered Bart. "I wrote him a letter 
from Wiscasset, but he didn’t even answer. The first 
I knew of those marked lobsters was when he showed 
them to us at the pound.” 

"By fire, you!” put in Grandpa Sennett, and pull¬ 
ing the last piece of cake to himself, he continued, 
as if speaking to no one in particular, "by fire, you, I 
was jest gittin’ my store teeth all set for this choco¬ 
late cake, and now I can’t eat ’er.” 

"Oh, why not?” asked Mrs. Sennett in distress. 
"Isn’t it good, Grandpa?” 


334 


THE LOBSTER WAR 


"Good, course it’s good!” cried the ancient mariner. 
"Trouble is, I’ve got to give it to this here Bart 
Randall, as a kind of a reward for savin 5 all the Sen- 
netts from the poorhouse. Here, young feller, you 
take this cake, and you eat it, too. I 5 m proud to 
turn it over to ye ! 55 

Whereupon the dinner ended in gay laughter. 
Short lobsters and unscrupulous enemies and deep 
gnawing worries were all forgotten, and there re¬ 
mained only the happy spectacle of an embarrassed 
boy munching chocolate cake, while Cap’n Len 
watched him with bright careful eyes, to make sure 
that he really ate it. 

































































































































